


Spoonful of Sugar

by zanni_scaramouche



Series: Spoonful of Sugar [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (Unnamed) Minor Character Death, Age Difference, Allusions to Subspace, Anal Sex, Blood, Car Chase, Clothes Sharing, Criminal AU, D/s lite, Drug Dealer Louis, Enemies to Lovers, Gun Violence, Less than a Pinch of Fake Dating, Liam has a minor sexuality crisis, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Mob Boss Harry, More like Fake Ownership?, Non-Con Groping, Older Harry, Pet Names, Possessive Harry, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Violence, Vulgar Language, Yikes, Younger Louis, bareback, criminal activity, minor injury, see notes for more, we don’t get too into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27555952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanni_scaramouche/pseuds/zanni_scaramouche
Summary: Harry Styles.A name better suited for a myth than a man. Like the name of the devil, people either whisper it in fear or laugh it off as fable. Cut it open and this city’s heart doesn’t bleed red. It’s snowy white, and it pulses in the tight grip of Lucifer himself.Louis Tomlinson cares for his family above all else, a fact that’s led him on a twisted path peddling drugs to support them. Just as he’s made the decision to jump ship, Louis gets snared between the two largest crime syndicates in the city. To keep his family safe he’s forced to trust the man that failed to keep his promise two years ago, the resident drug lord he’s unknowingly been working for, Harry Styles.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Spoonful of Sugar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874923
Comments: 129
Kudos: 441
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020





	Spoonful of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Almost Tittled: “Louis is an independent boy who doesn’t need no man and Harry Styles can go fuck himself.”
> 
> This might be very different than what you're expecting, but I hope you still enjoy it. Y'know, for a fic about drug dealers... there's no actual drug usage. Who'd have thought? Wanna know something hilarious? I originally planned for this to be 15k. HA. 
> 
> Written for BLFF Prompt #37. Thank you a million times to the Mods ♡ and everyone who sent in prompts! Thank you to Mia for catching all my grammar mistakes and Miss M for the help rounding this story out. xx
> 
> **READ BOTTOM A/N FOR NOTE ON NON-CON TOUCHING (contains spoiler)**

Louis’ never been in handcuffs before. Cold steel bites into his wrists and keeps his arms pinned to his back at an awkward angle. Like he supposes everyone does, he’s wondered if this would be a kink he could try out someday. He’s got a feeling that’s not going to happen if he’s in jail. 

“Reckon I was pretty fast, ya gotta admit.”

There’s no response, not surprising when one wasn’t expected. His leg won't stop bouncing a rhythmless tap on the mud mat below his beat up Vans. He doesn’t need to look at the initials clumsily scrawled in marker along the once white sole, now dirt stained and faded from years on the ground, to list the names of every person he’s letting down. 

He puts on a wry smile. “C’mon, who doesn’t like a lil’ cardio early in the morning? Got my blood pumping, feeling a little frisky y’know? Can’t help it when you put me in cuffs like this, officer.”

“Shut it, Tomlinson,” The copper driving the squad car calls through the grate. 

Louis swallows and hangs his head. Humour isn’t going to get him out of this mess, and without it he doesn’t have any defence left. With bitten off nails he blindly pinches his own hand. The sharp sting is enough to pull his focus from the pounding of his heart. He doesn’t hyperventilate in the claustrophobic backseat of the police cruiser on it’s way to the precinct, but it’s a damn near thing. Rays of morning light pierce through the city buildings and flicker across his face. He keeps his eyes fixed on the sun, wondering how long it’ll be until he feels it again. 

The day starts with Louis Tomlinson stumbling over a cascading mountain of shoes in the doorway trying to find his own. Enough is enough. He picks up a pair and calls a name with each one. 

“Dorry, Ernie!” The Crocs he despises but serve their function for feet so small, “Daisy, Phoebe!” Matching polka dotted wellies, “Fizzy!” Pastel purple Vans he approves of, “Lottie!” Heels she is way too young for, Christ. 

Count them: two toddler twins in need of constant stimulation, another set of twins in case the first pair weren’t enough, a preteen he doesn’t know how to talk with, and a teenager trying too hard to be a grown up. Six. That’s six siblings spilling into the room where he is currently covered in mud from eating shit over their mess. 

“We have shoes, we have cubbies, the shoes go in the cubbies.” 

He demonstrates with a pair of his mum’s trainers, knowing he’s being condescending and not caring. He’s earned the right after repeating this conversation nearly once a month. 

The older two roll their eyes, Lottie with a half face of makeup on and, Louis squints his eyes, Fizzy’s lashes thick with mascara. Too soon, his gut says, but it’s her life and his mum’s place to mention if she wants to, so he scowls and doesn’t comment. 

The four youngest doddle around doing as they’re told with a small outbreak of chaos when Ernie can’t find one shoe. It’s wedged under the bench and Daisy helps him put it on when he decides he wants to wear his shoes instead of putting them away. Louis chooses his battles. 

“Right, thank you. Now hugs, please.” 

He crouches down to capture three squealing girls and Ernie, the loudest amongst them, in a tight armful of squirming love. The moment he lets go they disperse into the house with a wave of giggles. He’s quick enough to manage a kiss to Fizzy’s head and a ruffle of Lottie’s hair before he’s ducking out the doorway.

“One hour of telly and then coursework. If everyone finishes you can put it back on, you know the rules.” He points at Lottie specifically in warning because mum had been fuming after a ring from the school about missed work. “I’ll be back to make dinner if mum’s not in. Love you’s!” 

He listens for the chorus of replies from further in the house, the second best part of his day. The first best is always coming home. 

The morning is a watercolour periwinkle. An overcast sunrise breaches the horizon while the west side of the world remains caught in murky night. Crisp air nips at his fingertips and the back of his neck where the collar of his jacket gapes. 

There’s a string of numbers on the disposable phone in his hand. He memorises the digits and deletes the text, pocketing the burner phone in his jeans. Habitually he reaches into his jacket and pulls up a map on his personal cell. With the pads of his fingers he drags it around to manually search for his destination, not enough of an idiot to actually type in the address, then zooms out enough to note the best route from his two years experience cycling through the city. It’ll be a good ride. Minimal hills and empty roads at this early hour. 

His personal slides easily into the hidden inside pocket of his jacket. The frigid morning has already turned his fingers clumsy and he fumbles with the buttons. The bike at his side was the first thing he’d invested in when he started this job and he’s never been more thankful for an object in his life. He jumps on it now to officially start another day of work. 

Drug running wasn’t his first choice, not even his twentieth choice, but Louis’ had time to find satisfaction with his current career. Today's address is an apartment building with more moss than paint on it’s exterior. Cracked stones make a wobbly garden path to slanted stairs he wouldn’t trust with a feather. 

Luckily he doesn’t need to test them. What he’s looking for is tucked under one of the many loose boards. He slings familiar rucksack straps over his shoulders and the satisfying thump of its weight on his back tells him his books are still there. Always a pleasant find. Some days they were pulled out by whoever filled the bag each night, but more often than not they weren’t touched. 

He makes quick work of jumping into his regular route. The city is starting to wake now, cars honk in annoyance and an army of fresh pressed clothing marches self-importantly towards their forty story glass prisons. Louis joins the crush with ease. 

The best way to do something illegal? Act like it’s not. People see what they know, and what they know are bike couriers flitting through city streets, young kids like Louis with helmet head and manila envelopes. 

They never glance twice when his scruffed Vans walk in and out of buildings alongside their Jimmy-Choos and brogues. They’re too preoccupied tapping away on screens, probably complaining about the barista giving them soy milk when they clearly demanded almond, to take note of his existence. There are names on the packages Louis drops, but they never match the ones on the plaques of offices he skirts by. Fake names and fake addresses, fake courier and fake packages. The only thing not fake? The drugs. 

Louis might have felt bad if he’d been dealing to those clearly choosing an addiction over food on the table, but he has a hard time feeling any remorse when most of the people he delivers to are wearing watches worth more than the house his mother is still paying a mortgage on. The money isn’t part of his business. Most of the time he has no idea what he’s actually dropping or how much it’s going for. Given the amount he gets just for being the lowest of cogs in the machine, he’s pretty sure small countries could be fed with the money made by whoevers on top. 

Louis doesn’t know, doesn’t need to know, and doesn’t want to know. He picks up, drops off, and collects his cash at the end of the week. He prefers it that way. The less he knows about the dark underbelly of the city, the more he can pretend he’s not part of it.

Halfway through his morning he figures it’s time for a caffeine pick-me-up on what is shaping up to be a pleasantly uneventful day. There’s a cafe around the corner that serves wicked tea latte’s and Louis isn’t ashamed to order two extra shots of vanilla. One accidental sip of Lottie’s cup a few weeks ago and he’s been hooked on it. 

There’s a backlog of customers waiting for their drinks so he wanders, easily distracted by the tacky tourist stall nearby. A gaggle of plastic momentos just waiting to clog up the ocean weighs down spinning racks. Louis fiddles with a pair of bubblegum pink sunnies because he’s forgotten his at home. Making a face to his personal phone he sends a selfie to Fizzy and Lottie, pushing the glasses up so he can see the screen. 

“Double vanilla latte for William!” 

Louis twists around at the call. The barista is already busy with the next drink, but Louis eyes the beautiful steaming cup waiting for him. 

“Thief!” 

Louis looks up to scan the area for the vandal. His eyes flit over the usual morning crowd of pedestrians stumbling around like mind-numb zombies. Finally they land on the teller of the kiosk pointing over Louis’ shoulder. Louis spins to see no one, then realises he’s the one being pointed at. Every hair on his body stands on end. 

“Thief! Police!” The clerk continues in heavily accented English. 

People walking about start hesitating, eager for a spectacle. 

Louis holds up his hands and forces a smile, “Hey, mate. Just a mistake, no harm.” 

He reaches for the glasses still propped on his head. He’d completely forgotten about them until this moment and he holds them out in offering. The man doesn’t move to take them, just keeps yelling and pointing, Louis’ not sure they even speak the same language at this point. Then Louis notices the phone in the clerks hand has already been dialed and his heart ticks up. 

“Look, it was a mistake. Take your glasses.” Louis’ growls. 

He jams the cheap plastic arms together to toss the shades on the counter and back away, latte be damned. It almost works. Turning around he spots a heavily belted officer. Sweat instantly breaks out. Louis steps several feet away from the incoming police, trying not to look too suspicious but that’s really fucking hard to do when his lungs are seizing. 

The second time around his strained smile is more of a grimace, “Forgot the glasses on me head, honest. Already gave them back, we’re good.”

The copper keeps walking towards him in that cocky way they always do, like their hands resting on their gear belt is supposed to be intimidating. Usually it’s nothing more than a pompous power tactic Louis scoffs at, but it’s working now.

“You won't mind if we search your bag then.” The copper in front says like it’s not a question. 

Louis sure as hell minds. There are neat little packages of party favours in there, not to mention the fucking half pound of cocaine. Some hindbrain reaction surges through him and before he’s even made a decision he’s running. 

He knows every single post box for a twenty block radius and he makes it two blocks over and one up to dump the contents of his rucksack. Cops can’t open sealed mail, but he’s not taking the chance. Thank fuck for contigency plans.

“Owie!” 

Louis’ got his bag already slung back onto his shoulders when his head snaps to the little boy several yards away. A sob of epic proportions is starting up, most likely due to the grisly scrape on his knee from tripping on the curb. Louis crouches to see how bad the damage is. 

“Hey lad, you’re okay. You must be a superhero, they’re always getting hurt aren't they? Think you can be a hero for me? Who’s your favourite?”

The kid looks up with round watery eyes and a wavering lip, speaking through hiccups. “S-spiderman.”

“No way! Mine too! Where’s your-” 

Louis’ grabbed from behind without warning. The kid starts wailing as handcuffs slam onto Louis’ wrists, their click signalling the end of his life. 

His saving grace are the books he had at the bottom of his bag. Their yellowed pages and torn covers are enough weight that the cops have no idea he was carrying anything else. He plays the idiot, says blind fear was why he ran. They barely have reason to process him, but they do, and Louis figures it must be a slow day. It still takes them hours.

When he says he's a dishwasher at a restaurant they don’t ask which one. When he says he was getting a coffee they don’t ask where he was coming or going. When they ask where he lives they don’t ask if he lives alone. They are bored, but clearly not overly motivated to actually do their job. 

If they’d asked he could say he had no diploma and couldn’t hold down a job longer than a week due to his… vibrant personality. He could say his single mother had six dependents, an unpaid mortgage, and a car in constant repair. So when Liam from his old footie team said he knew a guy who knew a guy? Louis jumped on it.

There’s one thing he can’t explain easily. The damn phone. He’s lucky they didn’t find his personal tucked safely in the lining of his jacket, but he really should have dumped the burner in the post. He would have if he hadn’t been caught off guard by the kid, and by the time he’d thought of it he was already tucked into the squad car. 

The tech department has no trouble pulling up messages from the past month. 

“Care to explain the texts received here?” 

There’s a slim sheet of paper with a printed string of numbers on the scratched metal table between Louis and the copper. Every text Louis’ memorised and forgotten in the past month since he switched phones. He was due for another switch in two days, but of course this couldn’t have happened with a clean SIM card. He tries his best to play up the nervous idiot card. It’s not hard considering it’s pretty close to the truth. Two years doing this job and he’s only ever had one contact, the bane of his existence, Malik. 

“I dunno,” he plays with his fringe, glad they took the cuffs off once he’d been seated in the room, “the phone was a friend’s first, said he didn’t need it anymore when me usual one broke.” 

The officer rests casually in a metal chair twin to the one Louis’ perched on. He’s painted in tones of grey, faded in the way only middle age and decades of shitty coffee can achieve.

“Do you have a name for your friend?” 

“Sam.” Louis bullshits easily. 

The guy crosses his arms with a leading look. “Last name?” 

Louis shrugs, using the small sliver of willpower he has to keep his hands still in his lap. 

“I dunno, we’re not close mates. Can’t even give you a number for him, now can I?” 

The officer narrows his eyes at Louis like it’s a little too convenient and Louis holds back a smirk. You bet it’s fucking convenient. The officer, Paul or Pete, Louis isn’t really interested in knowing which, leans forward with a heavy sigh. Good God, Louis thinks with raised eyebrows, the man might actually be doing the job he’s paid to do. 

“Judging by the previous correspondents, we have reason to suspect the owner of this device was involved in criminal activity. Possibly tied to the likes of Jenner or Styles.”

Louis automatically grimaces, unable to hold back his full body shiver of revulsion at the names. The Jenners have everything in the surrounding districts while Styles has his meaty paws on the city centre proper. The Jenners are a full family syndicate known for having a toe dipped in every municipality the eye could see. Styles is a conceited arse. 

Louis rolls his eyes up to meet the officer with a scowl twisting his face. 

“We ain’t exactly close, you know what I mean? But I doubt me friend has anything to do with fuckin’ scum like that.”

The officer inclines his head, a warning sign that Louis’ been careless. 

“Have you had any interactions with these men or their associates?” 

Louis sits back in his chair. He’s gotten too heated for someone uninvolved, despite his personal vendetta with the man having nothing to do with his job. Louis reels in the venomous tone of his voice with a shrug not quite as casual as it should be to get away with.

“Nah, you hear enough about it on the telly, don’t ya? Piss stain needing to be wiped off the earth. Speakin’ of which, you got a loo around here or am I stuck with the privilege of a bucket?”

Paul/Peter/Pied Piper grunts and leads him out. When they return the questions wind down until it’s painless for Louis to stumble through them like a young kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. The longer he’s there the more Louis struggles to keep from bouncing around the blank walls. The fear cramping his stomach since the cuffs locked was never for the coppers. It’s for the moment they shove his belongings back into his hands and spit him onto the street. 

Malik is already there, waiting. Louis spots his shadowed figure across the road, recognizable only from a sparse handful of meetings they’ve had over the years. The man kicks off from the side of a building and jerks his head for Louis to follow. There’s no other option. Every step away from the precinct is a step closer to his own grave. 

Several yards ahead Malik’s leather clad shoulders disappear at the mouth of an alley. Louis doesn’t have the chance to turn into it before he’s being forcefully dragged and shoved against the brick. 

“What do they have?”

Louis winces through the pain radiating from the back of his skull.

“It was a fluke, some paranoid tit thought I was shoplifting.” All Louis gets is the heavier press of Malik’s forearm on his neck so he hurries his words. “Dumped the packages in the post. They hacked the phone and got pickup locations for the last month,” he wheezes as fast as his straining lungs allow. 

“That’s it?” Malik growls in his face. 

Louis doesn’t know how this guy expects him to keep talking without oxygen. His choking must clue the arsehole in because the weight on his neck lifts just enough for Louis to sputter. 

“I swear half the time they were calling me Luke. They’re duller than bottom-of-the-box crayons.” 

Malik peers at him like he’s taking his time to decide if Louis is telling the truth, but he’s most likely just enjoying the power trip. Prick. Not a second too soon he steps back enough for Louis’ feet to finally reacquaint themselves with the ground. Louis keels over with a lungful of air he gasps down. Every alley smells the same, and the scent of filth on his tongue sends him reeling back to memories he has to physically shake his head out of. 

“Look, we have a good system going,” he tries to reason when he can speak. He can’t afford to lose this job. 

Malik glares at him with the golden eyes of a riled panther. 

“Thirty locations burned and a full day's worth of supply gone. You think that’s okay? Think you’re worth more than that?”

“Been told I’m worth a fair amount once or twice. Priceless, even,” Louis goes for a shot at levity while he tugs his jacket back into place.

Louis’ too focused on straightening himself out to notice the fist flying at him. Pain explodes across his left temple, his hand coming to the point of contact seconds too late. Well, if that’s how it’s gonna go. He keeps his face tilted down to hide the spark of retribution in his eyes because he’s never been one to pass the chance of making a proper beating worth it. 

Faster than light Louis strikes with a hook of his own, catching Malik’s jaw and knocking him off balance. It’s satisfying as fuck. 

Louis’ hated the twat since the moment his pretentious face sneered Louis’ way. It was an instant mutual dislike. Louis shakes his fist out and brings it to a loose block while he thinks of how to get another good hit in. It’s not his first rodeo, not when he’d always been the smallest kid on the team and sometimes being fast just didn’t cut it. He advances until Malik unfolds himself and there’s a glint in his hand. A knife. 

Louis can’t afford to die. 

“Sanctuary.” 

The world freezes. The word physically fills the space between them like it’s been slashed across the comic panel of this moment with red paint. Malik’s face morphs into something as sharp and dangerous as the blade he holds. 

“Did he tell you that?” Malik asks with a clenched jaw, fist tight around the knife Louis doesn’t dare look away from. 

“Sanctuary.” Louis repeats in a demand, a scorching rage growing within him for the word on his lips. The one word he swore he would never say. 

Malik curses under his breath, something like ‘Fucking pain alright,’ before he flicks the knife shut and tucks it away. 

Rough hands shove Louis towards the mouth of the alley. 

“You’re fucked the second he sees you. No difference to me whose gun the bullet comes from.”

Malik keeps one hand clenched around Louis’ bicep until they reach a sleek black car neatly parallel parked half a block away. Louis’ not wearing handcuffs when he’s thrown into the backseat for the second time that day, but he can’t shake the feeling of a noose cinching around his neck. He doesn’t really know what to expect, doesn’t really know what he’s even started, he’s simply blindly played the last card he has. 

Liam got him the job. Two years ago, when Louis had a black eye from an unfortunate case of saying what he really thought at his previous job, Liam had tentatively offered to speak to someone. Someone who knew someone who might have a job that wasn’t strictly under the table, but would bring in quick cash. Professional footie players can barely take a paracetamol without approval, but the B-list celebrities and clingy socialites they mingle with tend to have a taste for little pills and powder. 

Liam had leaned in close the day Louis met Malik for the first time and said, “If they threaten to cut your balls off, you wait until the knife is inches from your skin before you say it. Promise Louis, emergencies only.”

Louis had been cocky. He’d thought if he kept his head down and did his job there would never be a need to use the stupid word. Now he realises he’s been naive to think he could ever escape repercussions of the job, legal or otherwise. Hindsight is always 20/20.

Focusing on the winding streets they pass allows Louis to quell the low grade panic singing through his veins. He makes note of each street name flying by only to realise they’re still in the city and, in fact, are going deeper into it. The world goes black as they sink into an underground tunnel. A greasy hand tightens around Louis’ intestines the further they go down, so deep that pressure builds in his ears. Malik’s steely gaze in the rearview mirror betrays nothing. 

Further they go until the car comes nose to nose with a cement wall. A dead end, so he thinks, only for the wall to slide open and reveal a large barren cement room holding endless empty space swallowed by shadows around the edges. Louis has no way of knowing the true size of it. 

They come to a stop. Louis frowns as a second car glides through the opening in the wall, he hadn’t seen anyone behind them the entire time they’d been underground. 

His concern is forgotten when unforgiving hands drag him from the backseat. Louis might be scrappy, but he’s not a full on trained mobster like his opponent who probably grew up cage fighting dogs, fuck. The ground meets him with a slam hello. Before he can react, the shiny car that’s followed them floats to a stop. It’s an arms reach from his sprawled limbs. 

Heeled boots stride three powerful steps. They grind against the ground as the wearer crouches close. Louis can’t see because his arms are covering his face to fight off the searing LED headlamps trying to scorch his retinas. Prone on the gritty cement he’s defenceless against the bullet he’s expecting, but instinct has a way of brushing away reason. His heart rate could power the sun. 

Silence goads Louis to cautiously uncurl enough to squint past harsh light. What he sees is his nightmare personified. Perverse green eyes bore into him. Louis tamps down the absurd urge to laugh at the cruel ways of fate. He doesn’t dare look away once their eyes catch, he’d never give him the pleasure. 

Fuck this man. Fuck Harry Styles and everything he stands for. 

Finally the enigma sighs and tilts his head full of dark curls. The boots Louis heard peek from under the flare of neatly pressed trousers. This was a man who did not get his hands dirty, in fact his large hands were covered in glinting rings and tipped with deep emerald nails. Spotless. 

“Messy,” the man tsks in a voice so deep the word is nearly buried. 

Louis snarls in return. Like this man wasn’t the reason half this city was a mess. 

Louis’ fingers scrape against the ground as he presses into it to lift himself. He burns with hatred at the sight of the pristine gloss of the vehicle contrasted with the fine hairs unshaved along Styles’ upper lip. He’s probably the type of person who never waits for anything, who never has to hear the word no, who is responsible to no one. Louis can see it in the meticulous way he dresses paired with the careless way he styles his hair. An eclectic combination of immaculate attention to detail and deliberate thoughtlessness. What a grand display of inflated ego. 

“Your fuckin’ mess now. What are you gonna do ‘bout it?” he spits with every ounce of venom in him. 

The admission makes his stomach revolt, rolling like a stormy ocean while his throat works to keep it tamped down. 

He belongs to no one. Not now, and never again. 

Styles’ eyes narrow with annoyance. He taps a heavily ringed finger against the pure white trousers threatening to burst with the flex of his thick thighs. Rage fills Louis’ mouth with spitting words he bites down on so hard copper fills his mouth. The last strand of rationality spikes with fear, reminding him of how necessary this horrendous man’s mercy was for not only Louis’ survival, but his family’s. 

In a fluid move Styles captures Louis’ jaw in a harsh hold and forces him to keep eye contact. His thumb digs deep into Louis’ split lip until Louis is unable to hold back the flinch of pain. There’s a throb with every pulse of Louis’ veins fueling the slick stream of hot blood under the man’s touch pinning him in place. Inky eyes void of emotion scrutinize him. 

“Do better.”

Louis doesn’t know if it’s a response to his question or an order. It feels like both. There’s no chance to say more before Styles thrusts his face out of his hand. His boots click against the cement towards the car he arrived in. He pauses at the door and Louis’ stomach sinks in trepidation, his body tensing for what might come next if the man turns around and he doesn’t even know what to prepare for because Styles’ broad frame covers whatever he’s looking at. 

So silently Louis would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking, the man slips into the vehicle without another glance. There’s a small smudge left on the door as it thuds closed, Louis’ own blood marring the shine. His eyes stay hooked on the smear until it vanishes from view. 

As soon as he’s standing Malik manhandles Louis so roughly he narrowly misses slamming his head on the doorframe of the car they took here. Louis keeps both palms flat against the seat in an attempt to ease the unsettled feeling whirling inside him, like his organs have been rearranged in the short time he’s spent underground. His teeth keep toying with the ragged edges of his lip. 

Louis has kept himself purposefully ignorant of the workings of his job. It’s so easy, so non-fuss, that he sometimes forgets how much goes on before the product reaches his hands. He’s a cog in the machine and he’s never once thought about who is pulling the crank. To know it’s Styles, for lack of better words, is a bitter pill to swallow. 

Being dropped on his doorstep is a tad disconcerting. Louis never gave any of his information to anyone. And yeah, he hasn’t fooled himself into assuming it means they don’t know more than he’s comfortable with. Still. There’s something to be said about plausible deniability. He tosses a dark glance to Malik in the mirror.

The doors audibly unlock. Louis takes the hint.

Once Malik’s car speeds away, Louis gathers himself on the doorstep with a steadying breath. The sun is low on the west horizon. It casts peaceful golden rays through the crooked home filled streets. On one side it’s blinding while it casts the other half of him in shadow. 

From inside he hears the muted telly playing a cartoon film no doubt chosen by the toddlers, and a pair of his sisters calling to each other from different ends of the house. Louis presses his forehead against the front door to soak in the noises of his family. He’s lucky to still have a job, lucky to be back home, lucky to be alive. 

Breathing remains a struggle no matter how many times he repeats this to himself. Air is hard to come by when the other end of the noose around his neck is firmly placed in the palm of .

The next time the sun rises Louis is out of the house. He hadn’t been able to slip past his sleepy mum curled around a cuppa. If it was before or after her shift, he’s not certain. 

“What’s got you up so early, love?” 

Louis froze with his jumper half on. Feeling like a kid in trouble he kept his face to the wall. The littles had been upset by his split lip last night, but the sight of it had nothing on the way a nasty bruise was blooming on his face this morning.

“No rest for the wicked.” He yanked the hem of his jumper down and flipped up the hood. “Have a good day mum,” he rushed over his shoulder and left without looking back, the door clicking closed quietly behind him so it wouldn’t wake the rest of the house. 

A bad taste fills his mouth the longer he walks. Walks, because his bike was left behind at the cafe across town. There’s the slimmest of chances it’s still there, but he won’t be free to check until much later. Today’s first mission is to pick up a fresh phone and to get the day's pick up spot. After a dip into a sketchy twenty-four hour knockoff electronics store he texts the number Malik had purposefully muttered quickly and quietly in the car the day before. Louis has only his sharp ears to thank for catching it correctly. 

The response is instant. Louis stares at the string of coordinates on the new disposable with the heavy weight of resentment. They expect him to show up wherever he’s sent and do whatever he’s told like a mouse in a maze. The worst part is having only himself to blame, but what twenty year old doesn’t jump at the chance to make quick and easy money? 

Stupid. He’s an idiot. He’d been able to talk himself into it with justifications, albeit before he’d known the top of the chain he’d unknowingly linked himself to was the shadow of his past. Sooner or later he’s either going behind bars for fourteen to life or he won't be able to talk his way out of the next knife to the pancreas. 

He stares so long at the phone the screen goes black. He’s left with the dim reflection of his own eyes, bloodshot from his restless night. The thing is, he was young and impulsive when he signed up for this job, and when it comes down to it nothing’s changed. So he sends a text before he thinks better of it. Two simple words. 

_I quit._

He blows out a shaky breath. It’s possible he’s just asked for a bullet to lodge itself in his head. Only time will tell though, so he forces himself to move. With a pinch of satisfaction he tosses the mobile and it’s card into seperate bins on his walk back to the neighbourhood he came from. 

Maybe that’ll be it. Maybe he’s naive, but it’s not like he even knows anything to snitch if he wanted to, so maybe he can go home and actually pick up a dishwashing job until he figures out how to make enough money on the right side of the law. This doesn’t have to be the end of everything. 

His house is in the early stages of waking when he walks back in the door. His mum has already gone either to bed or work, Ernest and Doris have puddles of soggy cereal in front of them, Daisy and Phoebe are braiding each other’s hair on the sofa, and he assumes the other two are still getting ready in their rooms. 

“Louis!” Doris giggles, paddling her dangling feet with glee. 

“Hi loves,” Louis brushes his hood off and swipes his fringe from his face. “Thought I’d walk you hooligans to school today, yeah? Almost ready?” 

Lottie comes in with a wild look in her eyes and a mess of hair piled on her head. 

“Have you seen my knit top? The one with the diamonds? Fizzy swears it was in the washing.”

“Sorry.” Louis shrugs uselessly, having no idea. 

There are so many clothes in the house at this point. If he ever thought being the only grown male in the household would save him from the politics of it, he was dead wrong. He’s half convinced he needs to lock up his jumpers to make them stop disappearing.

Lottie groans and stomps back to her room.

Louis helps the littles finish up their breakfast and dress in something that won't make them look like a circus act. Once everyone has shoes and coats on he’s reminded of how much he owes to Lottie for handling this every morning. An insidious voice tells him she’s of age to get a part-time job and he might be forced to ask her to chip in soon. His stomach flips like a dying fish at the thought. He clears it away in an effort to focus on the immediate moment instead. One breath at a time. 

A squabble breaks out around him while he locks the front door. 

“It’s my turn!” Daisy whines. 

“Is not! You got to hold Louis’ hand in the market,” Phoebe insists with full eight-year-old attitude. 

“Woah now, what’s this?” Louis interrupts. 

Shiny pink faces look up at him with distress.

“It’s my turn to hold your hand while we walk,” Daisy pouts. 

“No, it’s my turn!” Phoebe counters with a foot stomp Louis can’t take seriously.

“Me!” Dorris yells and reaches her hands up with big watery eyes. 

Louis is pretty sure it’s the most ridiculous and amazing thing he’s ever heard. His heart swells. 

“Okay, here we go then. Climb on Dorry,” he crouches so she can clamber on in a piggy back. “Now I’ve got two hands, yeah?”

The girls sniffle with timid nods and slip their tiny hands into where his are secured under Dorris’ little legs. 

“No kicking Dorris, gotta be careful of the girls. Ernie, I see you lad, put the stick down please.” 

Ernest pouts and tries to hide the large stick he’d been swinging in the air behind his back. Louis arches an eyebrow at him and tries not to trip up on the uneven walk. The last thing he needs to do is go for a tumble and bring down all the littles with him. 

Fizzy is several paces ahead and snaps a photo with a giggle. Louis fakes a frown of annoyance, secretly pleased to have such a fond moment captured. 

“Louis.” 

The dark voice strikes him still.

Like a nightmare scene Louis turns in slow motion. Parked precariously along the curb amongst a row of ordinary wilting houses is the sleek black car from yesterday. Lounging in the back seat behind tinted designer glasses is Harry Styles. 

“Get in.”

Louis’ heart hammers. Fizzy and Lottie are too far ahead to have noticed, preoccupied with Ernest swinging between their hands. Slowly Louis crouches down to his knees. 

“Sorry Dorry, ride cut short. Go ask Lottie if she’ll carry you the rest of the way.” He kisses her soft ringlets and sends her dashing towards her sisters without much fuss. 

“Louis, you’re not supposed to talk to strangers,” Phoebe whispers in the loud way children do. 

Louis swallows the bile in his throat and gives her and Daisy a tight hug each. “He’s not a stranger, love.” 

“Is he your friend?” Daisy asks while twisting her ankles nervously. She’s always been the shiest of the bunch. 

Lottie’s finally turned back and noticed while Dorris tugs at her hand. She looks between Louis and the car with a frown. Louis hopes it’s not too obvious how fucking terrified he is. He needs the kids as far away from this man as possible. 

He runs a hand down Daisy’s back in comfort. 

“No, not really. It’s all right darling, just work stuff. I’ll tuck you in tonight yeah? We’ll read Peter Rabbit.”

Her eyes go round with hope. “Promise?” 

“Promise.” He gives them one more kiss each because he can’t help it. “Rush up to Fizzy and Lottie now.”

They run up the block with flailing limbs. Louis stands with the weight of eyes on his back, but he doesn’t turn, won’t turn until he makes sure they’re all together. 

Phoebe twists halfway to yell, “Love you’s!” 

Louis’ voice nearly breaks when he repeats it back. Finally all six have joined hands at the other end of the block. Lottie is the only one still glancing at him when he turns away. 

Entering the car is like crawling into his own coffin. The leather is butter soft and smells like money. 

Streets blur past as four wheels navigate smoothly over cracked asphalt. Louis thumbs the glossy interior window controls, petty satisfaction from how his prints dull its shine. Ignoring every instinct, he presses deep into the seat and spreads out to replicate the relaxed position he would naturally fall into on his sofa. He looks to the older man beside him and stifles the shock of finding the shades lifted and pushing back a tangle of curls to reveal piercing eyes. 

Louis doesn’t know a lot about this man. No one does. Like the devil people either whisper his name in fear or laugh it off as fable. A man who owns the city.

“Do you shoot me in the fancy garage or do I get stuffed in the boot?”

Louis meets those poisonous eyes without hesitation. He’s scared shitless, but there’s no way he’ll let it show. If his last moments are living to spite Styles, they are moments well spent. 

For his part Styles keeps his face blank for so long Louis assumes he’s not going to answer. Then there’s a small lift of Styles’ lips, though Louis might imagine it. 

“I’m too fond of this car to let death tarnish it. Leaves a smell.” He drawls.

Louis snorts and perhaps trails into a giggle on the hysterical side, but he’s probably going to be dead within the hour so he should be excused for his behaviour. Styles remains impassive. 

“Who told you the word?” 

“Fat fucking chance, mate.” 

Louis shakes his head at the question. He’s kept Liam’s name out of it all so far and he’d be damned to drag in his best friend now. 

Styles narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t look surprised by Louis' refusal. Louis is surprised. The initial spike of fear he’d felt at Styles’ appearance faded once the kids were out of sight. He’s left feeling oddly brash considering his company. 

“Do you have a plan?” 

Louis furrows his brow, not following whatever the words are trying to imply. 

“If you quit-”

“I do quit.” Louis corrects.

“How will you support your family?” Styles continues without pause for the interruption. 

“Not your concern, is it?” Louis spits, bristling at the mere mention of his family coming from the likes of him. 

“Six mouths must be expensive,” Styles muses like he’s ever had to worry about money in his life, “Ernest can’t wear hand me downs forever, can he?”

“Shut your dirty mouth.” Louis seethes, fists clenched on his thighs to keep them from doing something really stupid like punching Harry Shit Styles in his smarmy face. 

The meticulous look over the man gives Louis makes him squirm. He feels like a maths problem Styles is looking to resolve. 

“I have a proposition.” Styles says, sounding like a bad film script. 

Louis purses his lips. “I’m not interested.”

“If you listen, you get to read Peter Rabbit tonight. If not, there are cars I like less.” 

Louis breathes through his nose in an effort to keep his body from bouncing out of itself with anxiety. Next to him Styles lounges like he isn’t threatening to end Louis’ life. 

With a stiff jaw Louis admits what he hadn’t wanted to say to Malik the day before. 

“The coppers know my face.” 

Styles rolls his fingers so his rings rub against each other, not for the first time. It’s bloody annoying because their shine keeps drawing Louis’ attention to his hand, which is placed obnoxiously close to the man’s crotch. 

“I believe they have a pretty portrait of myself as well. What’s this matter?” 

Louis angles towards him, wondering if the man’s being obtuse on purpose. 

“I can’t keep working the street without eventually picking up a tail. I could shake a few, but there’s no way to lose all of them indefinitely and still get the job done on time.” He uses his hands as he explains like he does when talking Daisy through her homework. 

“Don’t you remember? You quit. This is a new job,” Styles smirks with thick lips. He’s shaved today. “Keep up.” 

A hand pats him on the knee, returning the condescension.

Louis’ nails dig into the skin of his palms from clenching hard enough to keep them planted in his own lap. He’s being played with like an amusing toy for Styles to waste time on. Surely the Cocaine King had better things to be doing than personally pissing Louis off. 

He glares through the window.

“What’s this grand plan, then?”

Styles tilts his head and clicks his tongue, “You have to agree to it first.”

Louis’ muscles grow more tense with every word to come from his mouth. 

“Don’t have a choice now do I?” Louis scowls. 

“We all have choices.”

“Too right.” A shock of dark laughter bursts out of Louis. “Only people without hard choices say that.”

Every trace of humour vanishes from Styles’ face as he leans into Louis’ space. “My choice was not to kill you yesterday, would you like me to make a different one today?”

Louis’ not intimidated. He turns to shift his glare from the window to Styles’ face to prove it. If Styles wanted him dead he’d be fucking dead, which means he’s still considered worth more alive. It’s shitty, but it’s something. 

Louis licks his bottom lip and sucks on it in thought.

“What’s the difference between today and tomorrow? I take this job only so you can conveniently swoop in with another one, sprinkling in death threats to keep me at it until the end of time?” 

Styles’ eyes flick over Louis’ tense form like he’s seeing him for the first time.

“You’re not so simple, are you?” 

Louis rolls his eyes. Styles needs to work on his compliments if that was meant to soften him towards taking the bait. 

“Someone did the job before you, someone new will do it after. It’ll pay well enough to keep your family going until you find something legal, no repeats. You have my word.” 

Slim gratification runs down Louis’ spine knowing he was right about this fucker never getting his hands anywhere near the dirty work. Asking why the previous person was no longer fulfilling their duties probably wouldn’t endear Louis to taking them on. With every atom of his being Louis wants to spit in this bastard's face and take his chances jumping from the speeding car. He can’t. Styles has seen the girls, knows their names, and without his regular income they’ll be hard pressed to make it to the end of this month. It’s not a choice. 

“You don’t come near my family. I don’t want anyone near the house again.” 

“You’re not in the position to make demands, sweetheart.” The hand that pat his knee never left, and now it squeezes Louis’ thigh in warning. 

Louis shrugs and sits back in a show of confidence he doesn’t quite feel. 

“Then what are you waiting for? ‘Cause otherwise I ‘aint doing it, so you may as well run me over on your way back to town.” 

Styles remains stone faced. Their icy eye contact lasts so long Louis truly thinks he’s going to be shoved from the car. Instead he witnesses Styles’ smile for the first time. Something dangerous and satisfied, the roundness of the mans’ dimpled cheeks at odds with his wolves' teeth. His fingers relax but continue to sear a hole in Louis’ jeans. With the other he makes a motion at the driver through the shaded partition. 

“You’ll need a tailor. I have an excellent recommendation.”

The tailor is phenomenal. Louis goes from a shaggy punk in ripped jeans and a tattered t-shirt to something resembling posh. The black fabric wraps around him with precision he’s never known, the waist of his blazer cinched perfectly with a single button over a crisp white shirt, and for the first time since he was a kid he doesn’t have to roll the hems of his trousers. The expensive material is soft and unrestrictive, but still Louis shifts uncomfortably in them. 

He doesn’t know how much it cost, honestly doesn’t give a shit since it goes on Styles’ account without protest. Louis kind of hates it. Kind of hates everything about the situation, but he especially hates wearing clothes the prick picked out for him. Yet three days after stuffing the garment bag in his closet, Louis’ standing by the open door of Styles’ batmobile of a car feeling like a shadow of himself. He’s been here before, standing on the other side of an open door with freedom to his left and the devil to his right. 

Styles’ legs are spread wide on the back bench, his head lolled in disinterest while his broad hands toy with his rings. The way he pauses with pursed lips when he sees Louis sends a rush of dread through him. Has he seriously already fucked up? 

Styles doesn’t comment though, simply smooths a hand down his own thigh and tilts his head to continue his assessment. A small nod tells Louis to get on with it. Part of him wants to stubbornly stay standing and make the man use his words, but a bigger part, the part that knows he’d be more likely to use a gun than his words, pushes Louis forward into the backseat. 

Louis adjusts his trousers when they ride too high to be comfortable on the goods and runs a hand through the tousled fringe he spent too long styling. Not for any particular reason, mind. A second after he’s settled in the seat he jumps at the heavy hand on his thigh.

“You’ll have to do better than that, sweetheart,” Styles warns in his deep timbre. 

Louis chews the inside of his cheek to hold back an automatic curse and plasters on an obnoxiously pleasant smile. There was a time he did more for less. Holding hands, snuggling up, and suffering through a bit of kissing was hardly the most scandalous thing he’d done for money. For this man’s money. He commits to the role he agreed to play and rests his hand on top of Styles’ so their fingers lay threaded on his leg. 

“Won’t be an issue.”

Louis relaxes into the hold, trying to ignore the way Styles’ thumb strokes along the thin skin of his fingers. 

“Remember the names and rates, no favours to those not on the list. Check in every hour on the hour. We leave when I say.”

Louis dips his chin in acknowledgement before letting his head fall back in the plush seat and roll towards the heavily tinted window. There’s a thick blanket of clouds overhead soaking up every ounce of light. No stars tonight. 

“Louis, am I understood?” A squeeze on his thigh reinforces the stern tone. Louis doesn’t reward it with his attention. 

“I know how to do my job.” 

The man scoffs an air of annoyance. “Not well, apparently.”

“The prick practically entrapped me, it had nothing to do with the job.” Louis snaps, indignant and forgetting to keep his head turned. Styles remains immaculate as ever beside him. The twitch of a smirk disappears as he grows serious. 

“Your job is to avoid trouble.” 

Louis bites his lip to keep in the curses he wants to throw back, his jaw tight and face pinched with effort. Styles’ mouth splits into a shark's grin the longer he watches the effort. 

“This is going to be fun, little mouse. Enjoy yourself.” 

Louis returns his gaze to the window, hopefully hiding the flinch. 

Mingling with high society and providing their poison for the evening was surely to be far from enjoyable, but Styles was paying him well enough for it. There were worse ways to earn money. Running drugs on the street was easy. Blend in with a crowd, act like you belong wherever you stand out most, and keep your head down. Pushing pills at a party shouldn’t be much different. In theory. 

“Will you be enjoying yourself?” Louis asks and realises his mum’s right, he needs to work on not letting his attitude leak so easily into his voice.

“I always do.” Styles leans close enough for his cologne to overwhelm Louis’ space. 

Louis’ eyebrows furrow, wondering what the madman is up to and once again losing his chance to act stoic when curiosity pulls his eyes sideways. There are more buttons undone than closed on the man’s shirt and it gapes enough to see the muscled expanse of his tattooed chest. Annoying. Louis flicks his eyes up to watch him speak. 

“If you’re asking if I’ll be sampling the answer is no, I don’t have a taste for it. I’d be greatly disappointed to discover you do.” 

Louis rolls his eyes at the obtuse question flirting with the tone of a warning. 

“Not for me.”

He’d been a dumb kid when he started dealing, but he wasn’t a complete moron. Rule number one of drug running: don’t do drugs. There’d be no chance to do anything even if he had ever wanted to, finding a handful of seconds to step out for a ciggy without the littles seeing was hard enough. Styles doesn’t need to worry about a single crumb of his supply disappearing. 

Picking up the product is uneventful, an exchange of hands and little more. Louis doesn’t even get out of the car, a fact he’s grateful for because Malik’s face still makes him want to pummel something. There’s no rucksack this time. Everything disappears neatly into Louis’ well tailored clothes. 

The car rolls to a grand estate with a drive longer than the road Louis lives on. 

Styles leans in to speak by his ear. “I’ll mark you as mine before business begins. Don’t frown all night, it’ll spoil my mood.” 

He leans further into Louis’ space until their faces nearly meet. For an absurd second Louis thinks the madman is gunning for a kiss, then his door opens and he realises Styles had been reaching for the handle. 

Louis scowls at himself only to be blindsided when Styles roughly catches his jaw and bites into his mouth. It doesn’t last long enough for Louis to tear away, Styles breaking the kiss off as suddenly as he started it, but the hand on Louis’ jaw keeps him close enough to feel the other man’s breath. 

“The sharks are already circling, Louis. Don’t let them smell blood.” 

He withdraws. Louis checks his facial expression from disgust into benign, feeling the invisible eyes Styles warns of through the open door. During the rundown of the job, he’d been informed of how his survival might rely solely on his connection to Styles. No one would try too hard to cut a deal with him, no one would jump him for his supply, and no one would try to pull him if they knew he was there as Harry Styles’ boy. 

Of course the best way to inform the crowd would be clear visuals with little room for misunderstandings. Louis will have to rinse his mouth out with bleach by the time he gets home. Possibly even bathe in it if the older man’s hands come anywhere near his body. 

Louis steps out of the car and forces himself not to bristle at being steered through the manor. A hand is confidently placed on the small of his back like a cattle brand. Music vibrates the air before he can properly hear it. By the time they step into the back garden the bass travels through his feet and into his bones. 

A crystalline pool and several hundred people glimmer in the night. He feels inexplicably like it’s the first day of school and he’s being told to make friends with the kids who pushed him into the dirt. Everyone here wears no less than a thousand pounds of shimmering jewellery and silk. Styles fits right in.

They travel through the scattered crowd to an outdoor lounge where Styles dominates the middle of a massive bench curved around a stone fire, one arm sprawled along the back and the other laid possessively over Louis’ crossed legs. As much as Louis despises everything these people stand for, as much as every inch of him brushing against the monster beside him burns, he has a role to play. 

He’s almost able to lose himself in meaningless flirtations with attractive people if he lets himself think of it like a part in a film. He leans into Styles’ shoulder while pretty people come and fawn over the man. A few of them even ply for Louis’ attention with nothing more substantial than playful banter that makes his intestines curdle. 

No one asks who he is, where he’s from, or what he does. He’s a piece of decor, just another ring on Styles’ finger. This isn’t Louis laughing at a vapid woman’s simple joke, this isn’t Louis tilting his head to the side to allow the largest drug mogul to bite the shell of his ear like it’s not the most vile thing he’s ever felt. This is a nameless character the audience will forget the moment he’s offscreen.

“How’s this? Harry Fucking Styles at me house and no one thinks to tell?” A severe Irish brogue calls. 

Louis feels the shift in Styles’ demeanor through the eight (he isn’t counting) different places they are touching. Fear cinches in Louis’ gut when he first thinks the outraged man leaning over the sofa is about to strangle Styles, leaving Louis royally fucked, but he only reaches out to press a sloppy kiss against Styles’ cheek and run a paw through his curls. For his part Styles’ face lights up like he’s been sleeping and is only now waking to occupy his body. 

“Nialler,” he greets, his deep voice breathless like he’s starstruck.

Louis scrutinises the newcomer launching himself over the sofa to land next to them, wondering what sort of person would have someone like Styles smiling like a child on Christmas. The intruding man’s hair is a fluffy mess, like countless hands have run through it, and his contemporary suit is powder pink over a white shirt scooped low enough to reveal a chestful of hair. His boyish face was made to be smiling and it does so now. 

“What’s a lad gotta do to find ya, hey?” He swirls a hand through his tousled hair and splays his legs widely in a deep seated sprawl. Up close he looks harmless in the way rich city kids are, straight teeth matching their bleached white shoes, an ego inflated by family money. 

“I’ll always come for you, Niall.”

Louis narrows his eyes at the salacious smile on Styles’ face, unsure if he’s reading too far into the slow words or if there’s something more going on. They’re on the same level of ‘call me Daddy’ attraction. Louis could picture it, but he adamantly stomps the thought down before it can fully solidify. 

“Settle down petal, you’ve got your hands full.” Niall’s eyes cut pointedly to Louis. 

For the first time of the night he feels seen. There’s power behind Niall’s pale baby blues, a cunning to him he hid well behind his previously cheerful demeanour. The easy way he flits between jovial and threatening is moderately terrifying. 

Styles hums and runs his hand along Louis’ leg for the hundredth time. Louis’ not sure he’s okay with how used to the motion he’s getting. Styles holds the side of Louis’ face to pull him into a kiss just as viscous as the last. Louis can’t hide the instant reaction to freeze and pull away, but Styles’ hand keeps him locked long enough to remember his place and sink into it. 

There’s nothing particularly wrong with kissing Styles in an abstract sense. He’s a good kisser with a strong tongue, and Louis imagines he’s well aware of it, which makes it more insufferable when they part and Louis’ panting from lack of oxygen and Styles remains as serene as the ocean on a clear summer's day. 

“Louis was going to stretch his legs,” Styles smiles at Louis’ glare. 

Without another look at the two men on the sofa Louis takes his cue to leave. He didn’t want to stay, but being ordered around will never not rub him the wrong way. Once standing, he decides the first thing he’s going to do is find the fucking loo and pray its stocked with a gallon of mouthwash. 

Like bees to a honeypot, he barely makes it five steps before people begin to twist towards him. Slipping on a smile Louis let’s himself do what he’s actually there to do. Time starts to blur and Louis travels in small circles without much direction, always another person tugging at his elbow before his feet get too far. On the hour he retraces his steps and walks past the outdoor lounge. Styles and Niall remain as he left them, a clear bubble of space around them maintained by Styles’ severely slanted eyebrows anytime someone so much as stumbles too close. 

People are scared of him. Louis sees it in the way their eyes are constantly drawn to him and yet they no longer approach as they had earlier, Niall being the only one completely unaffected. Their heads bend close together to discuss killing kittens or whatever business they hold. With his features cast in a serious grimace Styles looks more like the murderous man Louis met last week in the carpark. Like he can feel Louis looking, the man turns his head and meets Louis’ eye without hesitation. They share a small nod and Louis spins off to keep circling. 

Half the night has passed by the time he actually makes it to the loo. There’s no mouthwash. Instead Louis uses a hand towel to wipe down his neck and ears and eventually his entire face with handsoap. It wipes away Styles’ hands but it does nothing to alleviate the traces of eyes he’s felt all night. He keeps the towel pressed to his face and releases a drawn out groan in place of the yell he wants to let loose. 

He’s been in a lot of uncomfortable situations, looked down on by a lot of people. Nothing comes close to how he feels tonight. There may as well be ‘Property of H.S.’ written in bold black marker across his skin. The worst part, the absolute worst of it, is that once upon a time Louis would have killed for that to be true. 

Finish the night. That’s all he needs to do. Get through this one night and tomorrow he will turn the page and be rid of Harry Fucking Styles for the rest of his life. 

After sorting his face into something pleasant he pushes through the door only to collide with a flawless suit. 

“Woah there,” long fingered hands steady him by the biceps and Louis looks up to brown eyes. “Well hello cutie, what’s a thing like you doing in a place like this?” 

Louis furrows his brows, wondering how the man can tell he doesn’t fit in when he’s pretty sure they’re wearing the same shoes. He doesn’t get a chance to ask before the taller man steps in too close for comfort. 

“Now there’s no way you came here on your own, who’s the lucky son of a bitch?” He asks with a smile too wide and a grip too tight. Ah, Louis’ more than familiar with this sort of arsehole.

“Piss off,” Louis shoves him in the chest more as a warning than a real attempt to brush past him, but the guy catches his wrist.

He’s wiry despite being tall. Louis’ feels confident he could push him off if he needs to, but this feels a little too close to ‘trouble’ and the last thing he needs is for word of it to get back to Styles. He’s caught wondering how long he’ll go along with whatever the guy is looking for before truly fighting back. The guy keeps blabbing with a smile like they’re just having a laugh. 

“James? Stephen? Fallon?” 

Louis’ fist tightens in the man’s hold and he throws it down in an attempt to shake the vice-like fingers, but the guy is smart enough to anticipate it and strong enough to slam the hand into the wall above Louis’ head to keep him pinned. Louis has to crane his neck to keep eye contact and it’s this that pisses him off the most. 

“Feisty, don’t tell me it’s Niall himself? Poor Shawn. Oh, unless you’re here for both of them?” He winks as his hips press into Louis’. 

The obnoxious weight of the man is revolting in a drastically different way than Styles’ touch. The comparison makes Louis realise the one name he needs to say to get this man to back off. Fuck that, though. He doesn’t need to belong to someone. 

“Hey,” a new voice turns their attention to the end of the hall. A rosy cheeked brunette stands in a white vest and dark trousers. No way he’s older than Louis, yet his bare arms are clearly defined and his abdomen is flat and solid under thin cotton. “Harry’s not gonna like that.” 

The accent throws Louis for a moment, not expecting it but not overly surprised given the sheer amount of bloody Americans crawling around the place. 

“You taking the piss, Shawn? Styles hasn’t brought someone since she who must not be named.” The guy leering above Louis scowls, but makes no move to step away. Louis knocks his head back against the wall. Great, he’ll just wait here for this conversation to end to finish getting mauled. 

The kid, Shawn, grimaces. “Your funeral, Nick.” 

He keeps walking wherever he’s off to half dressed, leaving this Nick guy to laugh down to Louis like he wants to share the joke, “Can you imagine? H bringing you?”

“Hilarious.” Louis intones. 

He tries to keep his face straight but a flicker of amusement crosses his mind. He wonders if Styles will kill this guy, not out of some duty to Louis but more to keep his reputation up. Louis kinda hopes he’ll get to witness it. The guy leans in closer until he freezes, his hand halfway up Louis’ thigh exactly where Styles had been stroking earlier. His eyes balloon.

“Blimey, you’re not serious. Harry Styles? This tall, curls and emeralds?” 

Louis shrugs and presses into the hand, tilts his head with a coy smile. 

“What do ya reckon?” 

Nick jumps away like he’s been burned with so much force he hits the wall across the corridor. 

“Christ,” he mutters. He straightens the buttons of his suit and smooths a hand over his pompadour, “I need a drink.” 

He stalks away without another glance. Louis deflates. After a second to regroup he reaches down into the custom tailored trousers and adjusts the literal packets of merchandise he has tucked along the inseam of his leg. When he emerges from the hall Shawn is sprawled at the bottom of a grand curving staircase like he owns the place. Under the glow of a car sized chandelier and backed by solid mahogany panelling, the boy fills the role of historical-romance-protagonist much better than Louis ever could.

Louis bites his lip and puts the bits of information he’s gained together. The party and estate belong to Niall, and apparently so does Shawn. Louis isn’t going to thank him, so he’s not sure what the kid is looking for when he unfolds himself to stand by Louis with unfiltered concern painted on his face. 

“You alright?” 

“Fine.” Louis snarks and brushes his hair out of the way. Then he remembers he’s not here as Louis Tomlinson, he’s here as an employee, so he clears his throat and slides back on the cheeky smile he wears like a favourite jacket. “Is there anything I can provide for you?” 

Shawn blushes and wow, he’s adorable. Won't even meet Louis’ eyes. 

“No, uh, you're… “ He licks his full pink lips and Louis hopes he looks that good when he does it himself. “How is he? Harry?” Louis scrunches his face in confusion for the second time within five minutes. The kid ducks so their faces are a little closer as he speaks, “It’s odd seeing someone on him after so long. Kendall was years ago and Niall said you… ” He looks leadingly at Louis with big round cow eyes. 

The earnesty makes him look so heartbreakingly young that Louis questions his initial assessment. Surely Louis doesn’t look this young. He’s thrown a bit from playing his part, not sure how he wants the kid to finish the sentence but desperate to know. Louis waits until the silence has gone on so long he has to admit defeat.

With an awkward jerk Louis rubs at his nose. “I'm only here for a paycheck, mate. You won't see me after tonight.” 

Shawn shrugs it off like he’s none too bothered about the answer, some of his warmth dimming as the moment breaks. “Well, you’re late for your check in. H is looking for you.” 

The words further ruin Louis’ mood. Right.

“Cheers,” Louis mutters and stalks off towards the garden. 

The noise has risen as the night grows old, people splashing into the pool now that half of them have talked with Louis. He sticks to the outskirts and plans to walk by as he’s done several times before, but as soon as Styles’ eyes hook into him he knows he’s in shit. From across the fire Styles lowers his chin and motions with one hand for Louis to come close. Steps filled with trepidation Louis navigates his way to Styles’ side. 

He sits as he normally would with anyone else, a healthy spot of space between them, only to realise his mistake when Styles’ eyes narrow. With a little sigh Louis shuffles over until their legs are aligned together, leaning into Styles’ outstretched arm but keeping his eyes on the blaze in the firepit. The warm press of his body makes Louis’ gut twist and the hair on the back of his neck stand up, Louis is more acutely aware than ever of the undeniable difference between placing himself knowingly in Styles’ hold and the suffocating slime of being caught in someone like Nick’s unyielding grasp. 

“Where were you?” The man asks without inflection.

“In the middle of something.”

“You should have walked away.” 

Louis lips purse to hold back the truth. Styles’ stern eyes bore into his profile, but Louis resolutely keeps his gaze forward on the blaze. No use digging a deeper hole when the night is almost over. 

“Yeah, should have. Won't happen again.” Louis grinds out with a huff. 

There’s silence. Louis tries to distract himself with the flames and not the devil on his shoulder. 

“No. It won’t.” Styles uses a finger to turn Louis’ chin and Louis forces his features to remain a blank slate when faced with the intensity of his ire, “Nor will you lie to me again. Nicholas Grimshaw has been removed from the property.” 

Louis stifles an eye roll. No doubt Shawn snitched. Styles was such a prick to send someone after him like he’d assumed Louis was automatically in a situation he couldn’t have handled on his own. 

His lips press thin in indignation. “Is that all?”

“No.” 

Styles curls around him with his mouth right at Louis’ ear, his hand sliding up the inseam of Louis’ trousers, then sliding to feel his abdomen in a smooth press. His touch is hot through Louis’ thin layers. 

“We’ve been busy, haven't we little mouse?” 

Louis’ too focussed controlling his body to answer. 

Styles doesn’t wait for one, leaving a small kiss below Louis’ ear before he relaxes back into the plush sofa. Louis doesn’t waste a second to stand with a deep scowl set on his face. He’s angry because he hadn’t been trying to keep himself from pulling away, but the very opposite. All Styles had done was feel over the silk pockets that line Louis’ outfit. It was nothing more than a show and business, like the rest of him. 

Louis tugs his blazer straight and lets himself be reeled into another conversation he’ll forget the moment it’s over. Show and business. He can do that. 

Things wind down in stages. First the pool is abandoned, then anyone with an ink of self-respect turns in, and left are only those riding the wave between crashing hard and lasting until sunrise in euphoria. Louis finds himself wandering more than talking. The last two times he’s seen Harry the man had moved inside to a parlour. In the same room he’d seen the Shawn kid again, or rather the back of Shawn’s head with Niall’s heavy hand in it while they sucked face. The Irishman only wears one ring, Louis noted. Much more tasteful than Harry’s fistful. 

Louis’ new well soled shoes echo on the tile of a dark solarium. Glass walls and ceiling allow him to view the remnants of the garden party from a distance and the velvet black sky. He stops in the centre of the room to take a moment to himself, pleasantly chilled and eerily peaceful in the dark. 

Almost done. If he keeps his head on for another handful of hours he’ll be home in time to get the kids breakfast. Maybe he’ll attempt those Mickey Mouse pancakes the older twins always ask for but Lottie ribs him on because, despite best efforts, they always turn out unfortunately phallic looking. 

His elbow is yanked and Louis stumbles to spin around. It’s hard to see with only the garden's distant glow, but it’s enough to make out the unmistakable glint of a gun in his face. 

“So you’re her replacement?” Hisses a woman with dark features glaring at him from behind the barrel. 

“What?” Louis says dumbly, caught in panic as he tries to comprehend the situation.

The woman scowls and when Louis steps back she follows. Louis’ brain tries to tell him this is too absurd to be real. This isn’t Louis about to die.

“She should have finished him sooner. Luckily I have the stomach for it.” 

Louis raises his hands in a placating show still walking backwards over the checker tiled floor, a lowly pawn on the retreat. “Look, I don’t know what-”

“You’re a pig, just like Styles. A dirty pig that deserves to rot in the mud.” She snarls. 

There is nothing to compare the sound of a bullet to. Instant and earsplitting, over as quick as it happens. A pane of glass shatters. Belatedly Louis ducks and covers his head from the spray of glass and blood. Every nerve ending in his body tingles as it tries to sort out why he doesn’t feel like he’s been shot. Blinking open his eyes he finds the woman sprawled on the floor with a dark halo pooling beneath her. 

From the cracked door a sliver of light slashes across Styles’ hard set face. Something dangerous sparks in his dark eyes while he walks towards him and it fills Louis with paralyzing terror. Their chests nearly brush when he stops, his eyes electrifying every inch of Louis’ body. This close Louis can see the light tremble of the gun in his hands. When Louis’ eyes flick back up to his face, the man lets out a sigh and steps back. 

The bubble of the moment pops.

“What the fuck!” Louis gestures wildly at the body, “Harry, what the fuck happens now?” 

And he might hate having to rely on Harry swooping in like this to save him, but he’s not the one with experience making dead bodies disappear. The gunshot had been loud, the wall of glass even louder. Surely people heard it. Surely people would notice when this woman didn’t return from wherever the hell she came from. 

Completely out of depth Louis feels helpless for the first time in a long time. When he’s with the kids it’s never his turn to have a meltdown, but now he’s not the adult in charge and he thinks he’s owed a proper strop of his own. A woman is dead. Dead!

Harry’s eyes have lost the burning they’d held moments before. Now he looks no more troubled than if a tea cup slipped from his hands and cracked on the floor. Unfortunate, a little unpleasant, but overall not a big fuss. He holds up a thick ringed finger and points it at Louis. 

“Don’t move. I need to apologize to Niall for staining his floor.” 

He disappears before Louis’ eyes have finished widening, not even giving Louis the luxury of rebuttal. Leaving, because that’s all he’s good at. What. A. Bastard. 

“What the fuck.” Louis says once more with feeling. 

Obviously there’s nothing Louis would like more than to spend some quality time sitting in the dark with the dead woman who’d pulled a gun on him. Through the open panel of recently missing glass he hears party noises rolling on. 

He’s only just settled on the edge of a crooked lounge chair when a silhouette clumsily stumbles through the door. It’s Shawn, a little more rosy cheeked and tousled, otherwise the same. 

His eyes widen at the sight of the shining glass and blood and hey, look at that, a body.

“Oh shit, Louis! I’m sorry, this sucks.” 

Louis snorts. “The hell do you have to be sorry for?”

Was he the one going around shooting people? Was he the one screwing over Louis' life? 

“I don’t… I don’t know. Habit.” Shawn admits, still catching his breath and flustered from wherever he’s come from, no doubt on orders to make sure Louis doesn’t run off. 

Louis narrows his eyes. This kid plays the innocent act well, but he’s not having to hide the shaking of his fingers like Louis is. He looks uncomfortable, not distraught. No doubt he’s familiar with this world of criminal activity if he’s been hanging off of Niall and his high rolling life for any period of time. Behind his blown irises he has information Louis is in desperate need of and he’s not above using Shawn’s inheberation to his advantage.

“Who’s Kendall?” Louis cuts straight to the chase, keen on hurrying through this conversation before Harry returns. 

Shawn winces and avoids looking at Louis straight on. 

“Ah, she was sorta like, y’know…” He scratches the back of his head, the outline of his defined bicep a pleasing sight, “Kinda like Harry’s lover. She was around for a while before he found out and then…” He swallows and flickers a glance at Louis, “He’s got a temper.”

“Found out?”

Shawn shrugs, not quite looking at the body when he gestures to it. “Yeah she… well she was a Jenner. That’s her sister.” 

“Oh.” Oh. 

Louis glances at the face down woman and feels the blood drain from his body. Oh Christ. Harry basically killed a Capulet to his Montague. 

Not a second later the man in question returns with Niall by his side, sauntering in with a hard look on his face. The Irishman is considerably more wrinkled than he had been at the beginning of the night and whistles low. Louis’ confused when he sees Niall looking up instead of down. 

“Blimey, you couldn’t have aimed away from the window? Do y’know how old the glass is?” 

“Couldn’t be helped.” Harry frowns like he’s genuinely apologetic about breaking some glass. Unbelievable. 

Niall grumbles and turns to pull out a mobile while Shawn goes to him. Louis wonders if they’re aware of how they look, of how Niall’s hand instinctively tucks itself under the hem of Shawn’s shirt, how Shawn immediately bends and twists to mold himself around the shorter man. A vivid display of familiarity and possession. Louis’ unsettled by it and his eyes drift away from them only to land on the curly-haired reason he’s in this mess. 

He pushes himself to his feet and crosses his arms. He is done with this. All of this. He needs to go crawl into his bed for a long kip and wake up forgetting everything he’s ever done in the last two years. Especially this man. 

“Well this has been grand. Reckon I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain by now, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“No.” 

Louis’ shoulders tighten, readying himself to stand his ground. Nothing’s ever easy with him, seriously. 

“I did everything we spoke of. Is your word really as shit as your personality?” 

Harry turns his heavy eyes on him and Louis fights the instinct to shrink. Instead he grinds his jaw to avoid opening his mouth and doing something stupid like insult a man he’s just seen murder someone without blinking. 

Harry speaks before Louis gets a word out.

“Everyone saw you with me tonight, Louis. When Jenner can’t get to me he’ll come for you. What do you think happens when they find you with the kids?” Harry stares him down with his hands on his hips. “For now they don’t know who you are. If you start walking around freely it won’t take them long to track you down. You’re smart enough to know you can’t shake a tail indefinitely.” 

“I can’t just disappear, I have responsibilities-”

Louis’ chest seizes at the new implications of the situation. The girls and Ernie in danger because Louis was a fucking idiot in the wrong place at the very wrong time. He tugs at his sweaty fringe. He doesn’t know when Harry got so close but the way he’s looming over him has Louis’ vision tunneling with something like claustrophobia. Every breath is harder to take. 

“Your responsibility is to keep them safe. You have until the blood is cold to decide how.” Harry says.

Louis looks at him incredulously, fury flaring beneath his panic. 

“What are the options? Hide in a hole until I grow a beard or get my family murdered?” 

His mind races to the extreme. How long will he have to wait until the Jenner’s stop looking for him? A month? A year? Would they ever stop? The thought of not seeing the girls until they’re women, of missing out on Ernie’s first bike ride without training wheels, leaves his eyes wet and chest heaving. He’s falling apart in front of a crowd and he honestly can’t give a damn. This is Louis’ family, his life. Frustrated tears blur his vision as he fists his hands, his breath light with the brink of hysteria. 

His entire life Louis has rejected any form of authority. Now he realises he can do nothing more than admit his need for someone to give him an answer. Resentment and desperation churn in his gut. 

“What the fuck do I do?” His voice wobbles with emotion as he asks the world at large for direction. 

A heavy hand curls around his neck and brings Harry’s face inches from his with such clear focus he can count the flecks of gold sewn into the man's irises. He speaks with quiet severity. 

“Stay with me, Louis. The Jenners will be dealt with.” 

Louis falls heavily into his previously abandoned lounge chair and sinks his face into his hands. He doesn’t answer because it wasn’t a question. It was an order. The pounding of his heart acts as a gavel on the block, he may as well have taken a prison sentence. 

Time is a fickle thing and Louis loses track of how long it takes for Malik to pop up. What Louis assumes are a handful of Harry’s other cronies continue past the parlour door. While Malik speaks to the man in low tones Louis purposefully tunes out from the other side of the room. Still, Louis doesn’t miss the sneer directed his way and is quick to return it. Since the first time they met Malik has grated against every nerve ending Louis has, his pointed glares and sharp words designed to cut in a way that made Louis wonder what he’d done to the man in a past life, because it sure as shit felt like there was something missing to explain the bad blood between them in this one.

Malik stomps out and Louis figures he’s on his way to help the others. Harry stays seated, keeps his neatly trimmed onyx nails far away from the mess he’s made. 

With the arrival of the sun everyone from the party has disappeared. Right before Malik had shown his face, Niall and Shawn slipped away into one of the manor’s many wings. Harry kept Louis waiting with him in the parlour reeking of ancient cigars. Louis slumps on a settee across the room from the leather armchair Harry has claimed. 

Something in Louis itches. Several times he stands to pace only to sit when he finds himself gravitating too close to Harry. The man’s eyes on him do nothing to help. 

“Sit.”

“Thought I had choices.” Louis tosses over his shoulder, suddenly pissed at the sight of Harry’s obnoxious initial rings on the arm rest. How full of yourself do you have to be?

“You have quite the mouth on you, little mouse.” Harry’s head tilts in consideration and Louis’ stomach twists. 

Facial hair hints along Harry’s jaw. A five in the morning shadow. Louis is both thankful and annoyed that his own face remains smooth. Belatedly he scowls in offence at the comment and degrading name he’s quickly growing tired of. 

“You also have blood on your face. Go wash.” Harry continues. 

Louis’ foot halts mid-air. He hadn’t even realized in the shock of the moment, but with a glance down he can tell Harry’s right. There’s blood on his white shirt, trailing up in a way he imagines means there’s more on his face. He cringes and quickens his pace towards the loo. The same one where that smarmy arse accosted him. God, what a night. 

Arctic water rushes over his head until he’s numb. He removes his face from the faucet and catches himself in the mirror, flushed from scrubbing. There’s nothing to be done to save the shirt and now that he knows it’s there the blood burns against his chest. With awkward movements he strips and tosses it into the corner in a ball worth more than his entire wardrobe. Surely one of the footmen can deal with that later, Louis’ a bit beyond caring. 

Harry’s eyes linger on him when Louis returns with only the blazer on his shoulders. Louis knows his figure is slim, no six pack abs to show off, but he hasn’t bothered to even do up the single button. Fuck it. He’s got bigger things to worry about than showing a bit of skin to someone who’s seen it all before. 

Harry stands before Louis decides where he wants to resume his pacing. 

“We’re leaving.” 

“Thank fuck.” 

Louis tugs on his damp fringe and follows behind Harry without complaint for the first time. Anything to get him out here. 

The car ride is a blur. He jumps when his door opens, his head angling to see Harry silently holding it for him. Louis frowns. He hadn't noticed the man slipping out from the seat beside him. A headrush tilts his reality when Louis pulls himself upright, one of his hands instantly fumbling for the cold metal support of the vehicle while he squints against a dull pulse between his temples. Too many hours awake mixed with the adrenaline rush of the night has left his body feeling insubstantial. One solid breeze would be enough to send him sprawling. 

They’re in a garage, large but not insane like the one Malik took him to. Inside the house is not simply a house. While not quite Niall Horan levels of absurd, who had monogrammed face towels in the loo like a twat, it still earns the title of mansion and then some. Louis nearly loses count of the halls and staircases they pass until Harry opens another door and motions for Louis to enter first. A spike of déja vu sends shivers down Louis’ spine. 

The bedroom's grande size matches the scale of the place. It’s filled with the minimalist decor of a high end magazine photo that’s eerily familiar to the only five star hotel Louis’ ever been in.

“Settle in. I’ll wake you to eat.”

Louis doesn’t bother responding, doesn’t even look to see the door close with a click. He makes his way to the king sized bed in the middle of the room. Fully clothed he crawls on top of the heavy covers and curls into a tight ball. 

Sometime later he pulls out his phone. 

“Liam.” 

That’s it. The script in his head contains one word and nothing else to convey what he needs to on this phone call. He really should have had this conversation after Malik kicked him about, or the first time he stepped out of Harry’s car. Now he’s in Harry’s bed. Not even in the way that sounds, because this is much worse than simply shagging the wrong man. 

“Louis? It’s… it’s six in the morning.” 

“Liam,“ Louis swallows. Okay. Words. “I had to say it.” 

“Say what?” 

Louis is trying to figure out if it’s too late to say he moved to Antarctica for a while when it must click because Liam curses. 

“Fucking shit, Louis. Really? Shit, holy shit!” 

Validation sings through Louis as he closes his eyes and listens to Liam's growing panic. He’d locked himself in the ensuite and had the same meltdown ten minutes ago.

“Where are you? Are you okay? What happened? Can you even tell me? Is he-” 

“Thanks for thinking you were sending me to my death.” Louis’ humour falls flat and he scratches his nose, fumbling over his next words. “I’m fine. Or, alive. I won't- I can’t- I need you to keep an eye on them for a bit.”

Christ, he sounds like a bumbling idiot. Liam will understand. Louis knows his mum technically can handle the kids on her own, but with the way she’s been pulling doubles and sleeping every moment she can at home he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t notice he wasn’t around for a while. It might be easier if she doesn’t find out, ever.

“How long?” Liam’s voice darkens. Louis has a feeling he’s really asking if Louis is talking about forever. 

“I don’t know.” Louis groans and rubs at his eye. “It’s all buggered right now. He’s a real peach by the way, but he says he’s got it sorted.”

Liam knows who he’s talking about because he was the one to tell Louis he’d be taken to ‘the boss’ if he ever said the word. He wants to ask if Liam knew he and Harry had met before, but he couldn’t think of how Liam would know, or what he’d say if Liam asked how. It’s not like Liam knew about Louis’ less than savoury moonlighting. 

“Trust him. He’ll do it if he says he’ll do it.”

“And how would you know?” Louis demands, second guessing everything he’d just thought.

The kids call Liam uncle. Louis met him through the footie team when they were teenage rascals, and Louis sure as shit knows there’s no reason for Liam to be acquainted with the largest criminal in the city. 

“Just trust me enough to trust him. Don’t worry about the kids, you’ve done such a good job they practically run themselves. But what, uh… What do you want me to say if your mum asks?” 

He does trust Liam, so Louis sighs and lets him get away with the evasive response. He picks at the fabric on his leg, irritated by the smooth unblemished navy threads because he’s used to pulling loose strings on tattered jeans.

“Tell them I’m on a work trip, an industry conference or summat.” 

It’s almost the truth. Louis would laugh if he thought it were funny. His mum knew he flitted from job to job, she could probably remember the last one he’d told her about with as much clarity as he could, which is to say not at all. The girls never asked. The lie would sell easily.

A heavy silence settles on the line. It’s not uncomfortable, there’s just not a lot to say. Or perhaps too much. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Louis.” 

“Sure.” Louis agrees to be easy because he doesn’t want to be thinking about how very not okay everything feels. “Thanks mate. See ya… see you later.” He catches himself from saying ‘soon’ because the truth of the matter is it might not be very soon at all. 

He presses the warmed plastic of the phone to his lips while he thinks of the kids. Liam gets on with them, and Lottie knows all the tips and tricks for getting the littles to cooperate. If he lets himself, Louis almost believes they’ll be alright without him. It’s equally as reassuring as it is disheartening. 

With the most important task done he stumbles into the shower. The hot spray of strong water pressure is something he grudgingly admits feels like heaven after years of his drippy tap at home. His spine tingles as the first waft of the provided soap rises with the steam, full of lavender and crisp pine. Begrudgingly familiar. 

When Louis shuffles into the bedroom with a towel around his waist he frowns at the light creeping around the blackout drapes, the soft blue glow just enough light for him to navigate his way with lidded eyes. Lazily he drags his discarded pants back on and slides between the cool sheets. He’s sleeping before his head fully settles on the pillow. 

A knock pulls him into consciousness. Without a pause for response Harry enters in nothing less than an embroidered silk pyjama set. Only three buttons of the shirt have been done to expose new tattoos and long necklaces that direct the gaze like an arrow, down dow- Louis snaps his eyes up to Harry’s. 

A pile of clothes drop onto the end of the bed. 

“Good morning. Get dressed.” 

Louis blinks away the lingering sleep and sits up with a muffled groan as his body instinctively stretches. Pushing the duvet the rest of the way down, he slips his bare feet onto hardwood flooring. He cringes at the cold. He pulls on the proffered clothes, too preoccupied being half asleep to properly spit back something about being told what to do. 

Harry saunters to the window and draws back the curtains to reveal blinding white light. Louis mutters a curse and squints at the midday overcast sky, still hopping to pull up the waistband.

The sweatpants are soft and he has to double knot the drawstring to make them stay on his hips. He loops the ankles several times to reveal his bare feet. The thin blue shirt is similarly loose and it’s the stretched neck that gives Louis the realisation. These are Harry’s clothes. Actual clothes he’s worn before, not just unused extras. The internal debate to tear them off or not is short lived when Louis knows it’s either wear these or the dingy tailored trousers and honestly, Louis can’t see much difference when Harry’s money paid for both. 

Harry strolls out of the room without a word more. Louis continues his muttered cursing and follows, fighting not to rush so he doesn’t get lost in the maze of a house. He glares at soft shower fresh curls, right above a silk shirt highlighting defined shoulders. Louis feels like he’s been run over by a lorry. Who does this motherfucker think he is to look like this after the night they had?

Then Louis remembers this is Harry Styles, and his nights are probably more often than not similar in theme to last night. Big party with attractive people, addictive substances, and a sprinkling of death. The usual. 

They turn into a kitchen anything but usual. It’s size is fit for a full staff. Louis would like to say the large room makes Harry look small, but he still moves with an ease of confidence that fills the space while doing the mundane, like- like preparing tea in pink silk pyjamas. 

Louis blinks into the porcelain tea cup appearing in his hands. Black tea paled with milk. He takes a sip and finds it pleasantly sweet. Exactly the way he likes it. Alarmed he peeks over at the mug wrapped in Harry’s hands and is marginally comforted to find it in the same shape. Just a coincidence they happen to like it the same way, then. 

They take up residency in striped armchairs by a window just off the kitchen, in what Louis muses must be what those posh people call a breakfast nook. Sometime between waking and now, rain started rolling against the window panes. Louis taps a finger along the rim of his tea cup. 

“Would you like to talk about last night?”

Louis shrugs. “Which part? The drugs or the murder?” 

Harry gives his apathetic tone a small frown. 

“Death is very traumatic for everyone, Louis. None of us are above it,” Harry replies, unnervingly serious. 

Louis squirms under his bright eyes like they can read the truth under his skin. 

“I’m fine.” 

Harry hums disbelievingly but doesn’t push. Louis sips his tea in an attempt to buy time and find a good way to talk about something that actually matters, but as usual he’s too impatient for subtleties and speaks without tact. 

“In your grand plan, how long am I public enemy number two?” 

“A week. No longer.” 

The tea cup nearly topples out of Louis’ hand. A week. It’s shorter than he dared imagine but longer than he’s been from his family in a long time. 

“I can stay here meanwhile?” 

“Yes.” 

Louis tries. He bites his lip and tries really hard not to, but he still asks, “Why?” 

“You sought sanctuary.”

Louis’ throat closes with shock. Saying the word in the alley had been like bypassing the police and going straight to the judge, with the only two rulings being dead or immune. Harry hadn’t killed him, but Louis figured he’d cocked things up by his spur of the moment quitting. 

“I didn’t think you granted it.” He admits. 

“I didn’t kill you. That was my blessing.” 

Louis can’t help it, he laughs. Thankfully Harry’s eyes shine with amusement beside him, and okay. So the guy has enough humour to know how ridiculous he sounds. 

Louis drums his hands on his thighs, pedalling thoughts. Sanctuary. He doesn’t want to think of all the word implies, especially when attached to someone like Harry. Rumours and ghost stories aside, there was little he could honestly say he knew about the man. Like how much his word was worth. 

“Will you still honour the deal after the week is up or am I shit out of luck?” 

“The mouth on you,” Harry tsks, “cuts right to the chase.”

Louis’ nerves hum with the lack of an answer. His grips tightens on the tea cup as he leans over his knees to better maintain unwavering eye contact. 

“I don’t like ambiguity. I won’t pretend to play a game I have no chance in winning just to please you.” 

Harry gives him a fond smile like he’s looking at a small animal that’s done something cute. Louis practically feels the patronizing head pat. 

“It’s not a bad thing, sweetheart.” He sets down his empty cup on the small table between them. “After this week I will honour the original deal. You’ll be paid and free to go.” 

Louis lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Somehow freedom has gone from one night to one week, but he forces himself to believe it’s true this time. One week and he walks away from Harry Styles forever. 

Louis leans back into his seat and surreptitiously scans the man next to him. Harry’s head is tilted to the clouds like he’s content to enjoy the simple sight of dreary weather. Even in sleepwear he has every finger covered in rings, and Louis notes his flexing toes have been painted a light shade of lilac. Surely someone so comfortable in themselves was someone who never had an internal debate when making a decision. They pulled a trigger without hesitation. They were someone to be scared of. 

-

_“Such a pretty boy begging for me, anything you want. So lovely when you’re needy. Fuck, so fucking perfect.”_

_Sheets twist in Louis fists as a thick thumb flicks over the wet tip and presses into the sensitive underside on a downward stroke. He struggles to chase the friction and still rock down in tempo. Something shifts at the movement. A spark explodes, glitter and crimson on the back of his eyelids._

_Louis cries out as flames surge inside him. The depth of his bliss is unparalleled to any he’s experienced before, better than every fumbling excuse of an encounter he’s ever had, a redefinition of the word pleasure._

_“That’s it. Need me right there sweetheart?”_

_Words are beyond him. Louis doesn’t need to answer given the increase in speed, the hand on his cock tightening. The faintest tip of a thought squirms it’s way into his head, reminding him not to come until the other man does. Until the customer does._

_Louis bites his bottom lip and forces his eyes open, trying to regain a semblance of focus. It doesn’t work. All he sees is the deep cut of the unbuttoned silk shirt revealing an impeccable tattooed chest glistening with sweat. He casts his eyes up and the sight is no less impressive, the man’s face enough to make Louis believe he’s actually sunken into some form of hell. Distressed little sounds keep working their way from him as he struggles. Clinging to his control is like dangling from an oiled cliffside._

_Teeth tug at the thin skin beneath his ear._

_“It’s okay. Fall apart for me darling.”_

-

Louis wakes on his second day in Harry’s house with a raging hard on. Not uncommon, but the memory that caused it crushes his mood even as he reaches down. He indulges in a few pulls to stave off the worst of it and convinces himself to stand. When he shuffles into the ensuite the door closes behind him with a slam. The shower faucet stays turned to freezing. 

He didn’t know what he expected when he agreed to live in the house of Harry, but somehow it wasn’t actually living with Harry. The house was large enough for them to orbit in separate trajectories, yet for some inexplicable reason the room Louis had been shown was two doors down from the master. He didn’t want to go through the fuss of moving himself to a new one, so he stayed. Which meant he heard every time Harry’s heeled boots echoed down the hall upon entry and exit. 

Louis spends most of the day in a similar manner as the day before, lounging on the bed and paging through a romance novel he found tucked in the bedside table. He wonders what sort of guest left it there for him to find. Niall didn’t strike him as a The Notebook fan. 

Dinner is uncomfortable. Not because the dining table is meant for ten more people than there are. It’s their plates full of take-away Harry grabbed coming back from wherever he went during the day. Louis isn’t sure what to make of a man of such luxury chowing down on pad thai without an ounce of finesse. It’s just too… normal. 

For every question Harry volleys, Louis has his defenses up, elbows on the table and armed with monosyllabic responses. 

“How was your day?”

“Fine.”

“Did you use the pool?”

“No.”

Harry hums consideringly and spears a vegetable with his chopsticks. “Would you like to go after dinner?”

Louis snorts. “Smooth.” 

Harry’s eyes glint with humour over his noodle carton.

“If I wanted you undressed and soaking wet I have better ways. I was thinking you must be stressed, swimming is a good way to clear the head.”

“So you don’t want me undressed?” Louis lets slip. Damn. Not monosyllabic. 

It’s not flirty, he tells himself. He needs to know if Harry is expecting something even if he has to do so inelegantly. Given their past it wouldn’t be a surprise, but Louis will take any chance he has to tell Harry to go fuck himself. 

Harry eyes him, a frost enveloping his demeanor so quick Louis barely sees the shift happen between blinks. 

When Harry replies it’s with an edge. “What we did at the party was a show, you understand? I may be a bad man, Louis, but I find no joy in the pain of others.” 

Louis snorts, “Rich, coming from someone who profits from pain.” 

Louis’ blood is pumping now. Harry sits back in his chair, carton and chopstick limp in his hands while he addresses him. 

“My clientele are hand picked. If I did not sell to them they would go elsewhere for questionable products from dangerous sources. I maintain high quality in scheduled amounts, no more or less. It is a kindness both parties profit from, I can’t sell if my people are killing themselves.” 

“A kindness?” Louis says like the words are poison in his mouth. 

“Criminal activity will happen no matter who does it, I simply aim to do it better. Under my hand the city’s criminal rate has dropped. The systems I have in place make incarceration or violent attacks while under my employment low.”

“Saint Harry, how wonderful.” Louis sneers. 

Harry sighs and drops his chopsticks, sitting up and fully facing Louis’ anger with a gaze that feels too much like disappointment. Louis squirms. 

“You do not need to understand, but I had hoped you would.” Harry lifts his wine glass and swirls it quickly like a habit before sipping. He places it down without a sound. “Keep thinking of me as the devil. It’ll be easier.” 

“Was it a kindness when you paid to fuck me?” 

Harry stands abruptly with a loud protest from the chair.

“That was some time ago and I was not myself. I’d rather we didn’t discuss it.” He walks away as he speaks, straightening the loose clothes arranged artistically on his frame as he goes.

Louis glares at the back of his head and drops the items in his hands to properly fist them. 

“How convenient for you. Keep walking away, Harry. The rest of us will keep living in the shit below your shoes so you don’t have to think about it.” 

Harry pauses at the edge of the room. 

“I’m always thinking about it.” 

And then he’s gone like some tortured soul slipping into his dungeon. Fucking hundred metre dungeon with remote control water tempreatures. Louis bets the bastard even has a hot tub. 

Meanwhile Louis is left at a table of half eaten congealed noodles. Swearing under his breath he pushes everything into the plastic bag it came in and chucks it in the rubbish bin on his way past the kitchen, more out of habit than courtesy. What he’s seen so far of the place is organized in a way he’s maybe a little bitter about. If Louis has a secret thing for being orderly it’s certainly no one’s business. 

He is sure as shit stressed now, but he doesn’t go to the pool. He sits in his shower until his fingers prune with unwanted thoughts of the months spent earning money on the streets in a less than pleasant manner. Right when things got really bad, after he finished school and turned down sponsorships so he could stay home to help his mum, only to realise he couldn’t lock down a proper job that paid nearly enough. 

Harry had been the first and last man Louis slept with for money. Different sleek black car, longer tangle of curls, and a few less tattoos, but it had been Harry who spent an entire night tearing Louis apart with steady hands. It was also Harry who had the audacity to leave a stack of cash on the bedside large enough to keep Louis and the family afloat for a year. 

The entire year the cash burned in Louis’ pocket. After seeing Harry’s face in the paper under a less than favourable headline, Louis spent every day with his head cranked over his shoulder waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Harry to collect on whatever it was he thought he paid for. When the last of the money was gone and Louis took up drug running he managed to shake off most of his paranoia. What didn’t fade was the want to punch Harry in the face to prove Louis owed him absolute shit all, a desire that grew when Harry walked into that stupid garage and Louis realised who he’d been working for. 

He gets out of the shower shivering and scrubs a towel through his hair. There’s a short text from Liam waiting for him. 

‘All good here. They miss you.’ 

Six words. Not nearly enough when there are six beautiful human beings his arms long to hold. 

Louis wakes in the middle of the night. He holds his breath while his ears strain. The pain in his lungs nears unbearable when a creak leading down the hallway clues him in. His chest deflates. 

Keeping his movements quiet he slips from the bed and into the winding maze of halls, inching his way through the dark until a soft sound reaches him. He’s still a few footsteps away from the dim light spilling out of the kitchen when he realises what it is. Humming. 

Leaning around the corner Louis sees the orange stove light casting Harry’s bare shoulders into silhouette. The man is swaying a little as he whisks something in a pot. The notes of some pop song Louis’ sisters sing in the shower softens the air. Moonlight defines the muscles of Harry’s back, the swell of his biceps, his thick fingers curled around the whisk. 

“Would you like some?”

Louis jumps at being caught, Harry’s eyes finding him with ease like he’s known Louis was there all along. Probably has. Louis peels himself from the wall and shuffles closer to peer into the pot. 

“What is it?”

Harry’s lips twitch in a smile and he tilts the pot towards Louis like that’ll help any.

“Cocoa.”

Louis’ close enough to feel the warmth of Harry’s bare skin now, obviously only because Harry’s whispering for some reason and Louis has a hard time hearing. Obviously. 

“Okay,” he whispers. 

He steps away and his eyes unabashedly rake Harry’s body once more without his permission. The man doesn’t call him out on it, an upward tilt to Harry’s lips making Louis think he’s explicitly being given this moment to openly stare. He pulls his focus away as soon as his sleepy mind can gain enough focus to do so. He plays with oversized cuffs of his borrowed jumper as he waits. 

When their hands are wrapped around steaming mugs Harry leads them to a sofa, or rather he walks to the living room and Louis follows. The drink is creamy and sweet, just as he likes it. 

“Who taught you to make cocoa?” 

He doesn’t mean for the words to sound as accusing as they do, it’s just rather unfair that someone like Harry is so good at making delicious hot drinks. 

“My mother.” 

The fact shouldn’t be shocking, everyone has a mother at some point. Yet not everyone has one that teaches you how to make hot chocolate, and Louis wouldn’t have included Harry in the same category as him on that one. Louis’ unable to even picture Harry as a child. 

Perhaps he’s silent too long because Harry speaks again. “Do you miss your family?”

Louis does. He misses them like a sawed off limb. He shifts his weight on the overstuffed cushions and stares into his mug. 

“I don’t want to speak about them with you.” He replies quietly. Politely. In addition to cocoa, his mum taught him manners once. It was hard to find the strength to fire up his usual resentment in the stillness of the night. 

“What do you want to speak about?”

The mug in Louis’ hands wavers near spilling, caught off balance by being given the choice of topic. It’s a lot of power when Louis always feels several steps behind Harry in every conversation. Immediately the question that’s plagued him for years blares in his mind, the one he’s always been scared of knowing the answer to. It sits on the tip of his tongue, and yet he knows there’s a more important one to ask, one he needs more than wants.

“Why did you pay so much?” 

Harry’s hand is slow to raise with something like caution, like Harry might even know what that word meant. Warm from holding his drink, Harry’s thumb strokes the soft skin beneath Louis’ eye. 

“You were so young, Louis.”

Louis bites his tongue to stop his denial. Harry’s right. Even now, three years later, it’s obvious. There are fine lines around Harry’s eyes, a solidness to him where Louis’ still soft. Sitting across from him is a full grown man and Louis can feel every year separating them like the inches of space between them. 

Harry withdraws his hand with one last brush of his knuckles against Louis’ jaw, the pinch of his brow remorseful. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I paid a fair price for how much I took.”

Louis ducks under his fringe to hide the way he’s blinking to hold back whatever it is spilling out from him. He remembers, in a vague sense from years of trying to forget, the way he’d curled into his own bed the day after losing his full virginity. How he’d sat under the searing hot shower, not to wash clean but to imitate the feeling of being surrounded. It was the first and only time he’d longed to feel a touch long after it had disappeared. 

Then he recalls his reaction to the amount of cash left behind, how his longing had curdled into spite that echos in him now. He didn’t need some rich man’s pity. 

“I chose to do it, didn’t I? If it hadn’t been you it would’ve been someone else. Fifty fifty on it being a balding accountant or serial killer,” Louis frowns on the thought, not caring for how forced his indifference sounds, “or if I’d been really unlucky he’d've been both.” 

Harry leans away completely. There’s a harsh slant of his eyebrows making him look cross.

“I’d hoped the money would allow you to find an alternative means of employment.”

Louis chuckles softly, dejectedly, “Yeah, well. I sure know how to pick em, don’t I?” He tugs at the tight sofa threads. “Is that what this is about? Paying me out of this job like how you paid me out of the last one?” 

“I’d have paid the same price for someone else to work the party.”

Louis itches to ask about it, about her. The woman who tricked Harry Styles. Who almost got away with killing him. He stills his tongue, knowing Harry might actually tell him, but now doesn’t feel like the moment for it. Not when Louis can see a bit of melted marshmallow on the side of the man’s mouth. 

“What’s your vice?” 

Harry blinks like he’s been caught off guard, a rare look, by Louis’ abrupt change in topic. He runs a finger along the brim of his empty mug. For the briefest of seconds Louis is jealous of cold porcelain.

“You’re holding it, little mouse.” Gently Harry takes the empty mug from Louis’ hands and rises to his feet, “I’ve got a sweet tooth. Would you like another?” 

“No, thanks.”

Louis answers automatically and pulls back into himself. He must be more tired than he thought with the way his mind has strayed. 

Harry leaves on quiet socked feet. In the dark, the weight of worry Louis’ been carrying around for years disintegrates. He always told himself he didn’t owe Harry anything after that night, no matter how much the man paid. Still, to have it confirmed by the man himself is a relief he is both shameful and grateful for. 

Little noises come from the kitchen. He expects Harry to continue on to his bedroom, but the bustle in the kitchen continues longer than Harry simply dropping the mugs off. Curious nudges at him until Louis’ rising to his feet. 

Harry’s back at the stove with the blasted Marry Poppins song on his lips. Louis peers around him to see the pot on the burner. 

“Are you really making yourself another?” 

“Change your mind?” Harry teases quietly while keeping up the slow swirl of the whisk. Louis glares at the side of his face that has no business looking so damn charming. 

“Yes.” He turns so he doesn’t have to see Harry’s smirk. “Turn the heat down, you scald the milk.” 

It’s a lie. The milk is perfectly prepared, Louis just wants to make Harry’s face stop looking so fond. Louis wanders back to the couch and waits quietly on the sofa until Harry joins and hands him his refilled mug. They share the second cup in silence. It’s just as good as the first and everything about the moment almost feels… pleasant.

A door slams. Every muscle in Louis’ body tenses under the sheets. Heavy footsteps track through the first floor, up the stairs, closer and closer. Louis holds his breath, his heart slamming against his ribcage with every step that grows louder. Closer and closer. 

BANG. 

Louis startles so badly he falls halfway out of the bed, but his bedroom door is still shut when he gets a look at it. The noise must have been a different door down the hall. Harry’s door, if Louis places the sound of loud male cursing correctly. Slowly he slips the rest of the way off the bed and has a quick moment of indecision to hide under it or not. He shakes his head at himself, he’s not a pussy, and tiptoes to the bedroom door to press an ear against it. 

The voices are hard to make out, but Louis doesn’t need to guess who the louder one is. It’s distinctly Irish. 

“-on their way. Twenty minutes max to get your skirts on.” 

“Who’s intel?” 

“Grimmy. Yeah, yeah, scum o’ the earth for touching yer boy, let’s not twist our knickers. He’s reliable ‘bout this and times a wastin’.” 

Harry says something Louis can only make out as a rumble and then footsteps in the hall shock him backwards. He doesn’t get very far before his bedroom door swings to reveal a livid Harry. 

“You have five minutes to be dressed and ready to leave.” 

He vanishes without a word more, unsurprised to see Louis already out of bed and hovering awkwardly in his pants. Louis pulls on a tshirt and tucks it into the navy trousers that have been washed since his arrival. He doesn’t know when or if they’ll return and he figures if he doesn’t die in them he can resell them for a pretty penny. 

Niall leans into the doorway while Louis’ still got a hand in his trousers. He doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arms and watches while Louis spins and tries to catalogue the things he has or should bring. But he arrived with nothing, didn’t he? So it shouldn’t be a surprise there’s nothing for him to worry about leaving behind. 

At the last minute he drags open a dresser drawer and yanks out a jumper, one of the many magically appearing clothing items. It’s a purple he wouldn't buy for himself and soft as he rolls back the sleeves so they don’t completely cover his hands. 

Niall continues to stare and doesn’t move when Louis approaches the door. He’s traded in his pink suit for a blue one. In socked feet Louis stands less than an inch shorter than the booted Irishman, but the charged air Niall carries makes up for any size he lacks when it comes to presence.

“You attract trouble, y’know that?”

Louis rubs his nose and shrugs, not sure what Niall is getting at but also not sure how to ask the unfortunately intimidating man to move out of his way.

“Just rather coincidental three years ago he’s off fuckin’ around for the first time in his life and his house gets shot up. Now here you are dancing ‘round him again and there’s someone pissin’ on his doorstep.”

Louis shifts his weight from foot to foot and fiddles with the rolled cuffs. There’s something there he needs to look at, something about what Niall’s just said that could change a lot of things about how Louis thinks about Harry, but he’s a little too concerned with the immediate worry Niall thinks he might have had something to do with a set up. 

It takes three aborted attempts to meet Niall’s eyes steadily and Louis hopes the naked fear in them makes an impression. 

“I didn’t-”

Niall knocks his head back in an eye roll. “Calm down Pet, it ‘ain't you. I know all about you and the litter, you’re as harmless as a kitten.” 

Louis crosses his arms at the easy arrogance in Niall’s voice, forcing himself not to flinch as a zing of worry shoots through him. Harry, Zayn, now Niall. He’s spent too much time shutting out any information on what he was involved in and not a second spared on how many people had access to the details of his own life. His family. 

Niall’s eyes narrow, growing serious. “You’re also a magnet for trouble, a rather distracting one that makes him stupid. He can’t afford it, I can’t afford it, so calm your tits and twirl off on ya twinkle toes without turning back when the blood dries, yeah?” 

Louis wants to ask who’s blood they’re talking about here, but he bites down on his lip as Niall whirls on him. 

“Come on, he’s about ready to shoot me arse for holding your attention so long.” 

He walks away in an infuriatingly similar way as Harry. Not a glance behind him to see if Louis follows, just pure arrogance in knowing he will be listened to. 

Louis follows, of course, because there’s nothing else he can do. Luckily he located his one and only pair of shoes as a distraction from the boredom yesterday and he makes a small detour to the front door to slip into them. Every step he takes echoes in the empty halls because he’s maybe being a little shit and stomping. Fucking twinkles toes his arse. 

Harry’s in the garage. He meets Louis’ eyes briefly without emotion before he turns to Niall, who’s come up beside Harry and taken whatever it is he’s offering. Niall lifts his right arm and tucks something under the neat lines of his jacket in a motion Louis only recognizes from television. A gun. Harry’s just given Niall a gun, and now that Louis’ looking he can see Harry’s got one of his own disappearing in a similar fashion on his left side. 

Louis tries really hard not to stare, and by that he means he looks at his shoes and the ceiling and the car, anywhere but the two armed men. He can feel eyes on him gauging his reaction and Louis is not going to freak out about it, even though he really really wants to. Guns serve a single purpose.

There are six sleek vehicles of various sizes lining the garage like a dealership showcase. Niall slips into a thin sports car with ease. Harry walks around to a larger luxury SUV and props open the back door with a hard look at Louis, whose feet remain glued.

“Get in the car, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t budge.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“No.”

A huff of jaded disbelief leaves Louis, “Excuse me if I don’t feel particularly motivated to get in a vehicle with you again.” 

“Harry,” Niall’s calls impatiently from the cracked window of the sports car and echoes harshly around the cement walls of the garage. 

Harry doesn’t spare him a glance, just curls his fists and tilts his head at Louis. “Now is not the time. A bit of trust, please.” 

“Trust?” Louis spits, his lungs starting to ache in an all too familiar way as the reality of his situation pierces through the veil of detachment he’d so meticulously built. “I’ve given you nothing but trust! I’ve barely spoken to anyone for days while you’re off running around playing mafia king!” 

The sports car purrs to life beside them and pulls out while Harry storms into Louis space and grips his arm. 

“I understand you’re upset, but I simply can not deal with it right now.” 

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Louis doesn’t get an answer as he’s shoved with a bruising grip into the back of the SUV, too shocked to fight it when he’s manhandled into a seat and forcefully buckled before the door slams. Harry slips into the driver’s seat and they’re moving, ripping out of the garage behind the rumbling sports car. The glass is so tinted Louis only knows it’s Niall behind the wheel because he’s seen the man get in. 

Rage bubbles under Louis’ skin. 

“You can’t treat people like that.” 

“I wouldn’t have to if you did as told.” 

Louis leans over the centre console so he can properly give ‘im an earful. “Listening to you has given me shite.”

“Right now it’s keeping you alive.” 

“I was doing a bloody good job of it before you got involved.”

Harry growls in the same pitch as the engine, “You were an hour away from being left in a ditch.”

The truth of it cuts so wickedly Louis recoils into the backseat like he’s been dealt a physical blow. Even though the man isn’t looking at him, Louis glares at him in the rearview mirror. 

“Might’ve been better than being touched by your filthy hands.” He spits.

Louis is quite proud of the flinch the words get from Harry. He hadn’t gone for a cheap shot on Harry’s performance, this was a blow meant to hit personal and he savours the burn. It’s a lie, Louis values his life more than to ever wish he were dead, but let Harry believe his touch is repulsive enough to wish death over.

The scene outside the window blurs too fast to catch every turn and street sign. Louis isn’t bothered enough to be upset about it. Or he isn’t, until they take the merger for the motorway. His gut turns to stone. Over the hum of the wheels tearing over pavement Louis hears Harry suck in a breath like he’s about to say something more. A phone call comes through bluetooth in a shrill note before he can let it out. Harry jabs answer. 

“Gotta nice trio o’ tails already. Reckon they don’t know which cup holds the ball yet,” Niall’s voice comes in through the speaker. 

Every hair on Louis’ body stands on end. He whips to look through the back window only to find a scantily populated road, the few cars they pass going the speed limit and fading quickly from sight. He’s about to voice his opinion that Niall needs a pair of glasses when there’s a flash of colour.

In a blink an ostentatious red sports car ducks from behind a crooked van and scoots to slide behind a rusting Volvo, it’s low profile slipping seemingly into thin air behind the older car. Louis blinks and catches another dash of red. And another. Niall’s right, three in total flitting behind other cars to stay out of direct sight.

Acceleration sends Louis slamming a hand onto the seat to keep his balance. He turns forward to find Harry glaring down the open road with heated focus. The sports car Niall is driving zips forward and Harry shifts gear to follow, another burst of speed sending Louis flat into the seat. He’s never been in a moving vehicle this fast. 

Despite the confident way Harry’s cutting around every obstacle, Louis’ stomach lurches. Harry’s cool eyes flick to the rearview mirror, but they look past Louis, who’s neck cranks to see what Harry’s focused on. The three red cars are no longer hiding. In full pursuit their motors rumble with each weave they take to follow the two blacks. 

“Eenie-meenie-minie-moe,” Niall hums in a childish tone and Harry’s knuckles tighten on the wheel. 

“Niall, don’t you dare-”

Niall cackles, “Ah, sorry Hazza. Gonna catch meself a tiger!”

Louis’ completely clueless as to what the fuck they’re talking about and he jerks his head around until he sees the onyx sports car fly with the speed of light across multiple lanes of traffic. It barely makes an exit in time. Only one of the red cars reacts to follow him up the rounded ramp. 

At first Louis thinks the speakers pop, the noise so loud it throws him off balance. Sweat breaks out across his skin. Has Niall’s car blown up? Did he crash? No matter how Louis twists the ramp is too far in the distance to see anything. The noise comes through the speakers again, followed by Niall’s muttered cursing. 

Gun shots.

Just as Louis makes the connection he flinches in time with a crystal clear burst, not through the speaker but in his own ear. 

“Onto the floor.” Harry commands evenly.

Louis doesn’t need to be told twice. He looks down and fumbles with his slippery buckle. 

Bullets pop. Glass cracks. The engine thunders. The radio crackles. 

His ears ring with the violent sounds of assault as Louis scrambles to cram himself in the footwell of the backseat. The floor vibrates with the thrum of momentum. Each jolt of impact makes him wince. The windows may be bulletproof, but that doesn’t translate to indestructible. A few more well placed shots and Louis knows the panes of glass will shatter just like anything else. His face is pressed against the back of the passenger's seat and gives him a direct view of Harry’s stern jaw clenched with tension. 

“Harry.”

Nothing. Not even a glance. But okay, Louis’ voice had been a little shaky so that could be on him. Louis wipes sweat from his brow and licks his lips.

“Harry,” he tries a little louder, a little more forcefully. Still he’s ignored, and maybe he imagines it but the world seems to blur a little more around him like Harry’s foot has grown a little heavier. Louis’ free hand claws into the supple leather of the backseat so hard his nails are bound to leave permanent imprints. 

“Harry Fuckin-”

“Edward,” The flat of Harry’s palm slams against the steering wheel like he’s truly pissed off about Louis’ inaccurate use of his name, “It’s Edward Styles.” 

Louis’ lips thin out as his own temper flares. Of all the times to be hung up on a name! 

Slowly he enunciates every syllable, “Harry Fucking Edward Styles, listen to me for half a damn second.”

“What?” Harry snaps. The car continues to race under his control. 

“I’m bleeding.”

They jerk so quickly Louis’ head slams into the padded backside of the seat in front of him. Glaring green eyes meet Louis over the seat shoulder before they scan down his body. He can tell the exact moment Harry spies Louis’ hand clenched to his soaked side. Harry’s eyes flick back to his face for a fraction of a second with something like an accusation, like Louis placed himself perfectly in front of the ricocheted bullet just to ruin Harry’s day further. 

Harry turns back to the road. Louis holds on as best he can with one hand clawed into the leather and his other a vice on his hip. He hasn’t had a chance to look at it too closely, can’t actually convince himself to let go long enough to survey the damage, but even though it hurts like a motherfucker it’s not the earth shattering blind pain he’s always imagined a bullet to be. More like the time he fell off his skateboard and gashed his knees. A glancing shot, he thinks. Hopes. 

His sweaty forehead presses to the seat in front of him in a mess of matted hair. He grimaces at every jerk of the car as Harry navigates with abrupt swerves, dodging their pursuers. Louis drifts a little, if he’s being honest, a numbness coming over his face and fingertips that spreads into his limbs. His breathing’s gone shallow. 

Absently the contrast of blood soaking into the knit lilac jumper catches his mind. There will be no salvaging it. Likewise, the deep maroon marring fine navy threads tells him he won't be able to resell the trousers afterall. He’s less upset about missing the potential payday and more so about ruining the soft knit he’d secretly wanted to keep. 

Keeping his head down to study the blooming stains, Louis’ mind latches onto a count of four he uses with the littles when they get worked up. His chapped lips silently move along with the numbers as he breathes. 

A vulgar curse from Harry has Louis jerking up to attention. The car swerves with a pull to the side, quickly decelerating as trepidation makes cement of Louis’ limbs. He blinks to find focus while Harry rattles on about street names to someone. Niall. Right. His voice comes through on the radio in response before a click signals the end of call and Harry’s, oh, he’s- 

“Huh?”

Louis grumbles through the pain as he tries to follow the way Harry maneuvers himself into the backseat with the agile grace of a predator. Suddenly he’s close enough for Louis to count eyelashes. A soft finger traces the skin under his eye, Harry’s hand overly warm and an oddly tender for the murderous look on his face. 

A set of tires squeal to a stop much too loud for Louis’ liking, then another set joins them. Two roaring engines drown out everything but his heartbeat. Harry can surely feel it under his fingertips. There’s a tremor to them, in time with the shakiness of Harry’s breath as it ghosts over Louis’ face. Beneath wild curls the crease between Harry’s brows deepens like he’s the one in pain. His eyes scan Louis with such scrutiny Louis forgets to breathe. 

“Stay.” 

“Harry-” Louis doesn’t get the chance to continue. He snarls at the door shut in his face, “Stop fucking leaving!” 

Silence rings back to him. 

This time, in the claustrophobic backseat footwell of a drug lord's Range Rover with hot blood oozing between his fingers, Louis does hyperventilate. His ragged breathing swells and locks in his chest. Desperately he fights his body to force more oxygen into aching lungs. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. The moment drags in painfully slow silence. A scream lodges itself in his throat, ready to burst if only to break the tension. 

He doesn’t realise what he’s waiting for until it happens. A lone gunshot breaks the silence. 

Louis’ breath stutters. 

The world splits into chaos. Gunshots layer on top of one another in a way Louis quickly loses track of. The vehicle rattles as bullets pierce it unpredictably, leaving Louis with nothing but a tight grip on luck to keep him out of their path. A man yells, then another, and it’s too hard to hear more than muffled bass lines but Louis urgently waits to hear the low baritone of Harry’s voice amongst them. He’s left wanting. 

Louis’ been focused on the driver side back door across from him since Harry disappeared through it. He tries, or he should try to see what’s happening, but his body is paralyzed on the cramped floor between the back bench and front passenger seat, his head awkwardly resting on the handle of the door. 

A flash of hysteria bubbles over him. He’s acting like the creature Harry mocks him with, he’s become a mouse hiding in a hole. Louis smothers it down quickly when the small shocks of laughter jolt his side and set off a round of piercing pain. With a sweat damp palm he swipes the tangled fringe from his forehead. 

The sharp squeal of rubber against asphalt freezes him as another engine revs into the mix of the violent symphony. Louis purses thin lips. Stop being a cunt and see what the fuck is happening, he tells himself. He digs his free hand into the leather and forces himself up. The wind is knocked from him by the explosion of pain the movement brings. He grits his teeth and keeps going until he sees around the passenger chair and over the console.

Bullet impact points spiderweb the windshield like cracked ice. Only vague shapes of solid colour can be seen past the bonnet. He curses and eyes the door handle. He’s working up the nerve to open it and misses the moment things go silent. The sudden click of the latch has him jolting away in terror. 

Sharp pain radiates through him as he falls backwards into the drivers side footwell with a cry. The fraction of a second it takes him to recognize Harry is long enough for anger to boil. 

“What was that!? I’m not some child you can leave in the car while you go to the market,” he lashes out while Harry stands by the open car door a little more dirty and bloody than he was when he left. “The hell was I supposed to do if you didn’t come back? You didn’t even leave the bloody keys!” 

Louis crawls out, stubbornly batting away the hand Harry offers and instead gripping hard at the doorway of the car to keep his balance on two unsteady feet. The keys would have done him no good, he belatedly realises at the sight of the flat tire. 

Harry doesn’t say anything of course. Just keeps that familiar frown on his face as he leads Louis towards the black sports car still pristine and idling by the curb. Now that he’s out of the Rover Louis recognizes the industrial district, the mayhem having taken place on the backside of some manufacturing building with signage too faded to read. The empty lot is littered with the debris of crumbling road and scrap metal. 

Shells of the formerly immaculate red cars sit haphazardly parked around Harry’s SUV, their windows smashed and frames riddled with bullet holes. Louis’ anger slips. A dull horror wraps around him at the unnatural twist of bodies scattered on the ground. 

Niall leans against the open driver door of the sports car. The closer he gets Louis can tell the man has narrowed his eyes. Louis follows the gaze to his hip. Right. He’s still bleeding. Maybe that’s why his feet are dragging against the ground more times than actually lifting and the way Harry hovers at his back.

“Magnet,” Niall mutters. 

Louis doesn’t deign him with a response as he crawls into the back seat and deflates into the far corner. Before Niall slides into the driver's seat and eases them onto the road, Harry follows and shuts the door to lock them in the narrowly designed backseats, close enough for the dust on his trousers to transfer onto Louis’. 

Exhaustion collides with the last dregs of adrenaline in Louis’ veins, leaving him oddly aware of the heat of Harry’s muscled thigh. Louis’ hand is starting to cramp from being locked onto his side. Harry’s eyes feel heavy on the side of his face but Louis resolutely doesn’t look at the bastard. For that split second when the door had opened in the SUV he’d been certain he was going to be dragged out and shot in the head without having said another word to his family, left facedown and crumpled like the bodies he’d walked past. 

“Damn it,” Louis sighs under his breath, closer to a whine than he wants to admit.

He turns into the window and brings the hand not occupied to cover his face, unable to stop the grimace and shudder of his shoulders. Great. Fantastic. He’d just been yelling about not being a child and now he’s falling apart like some delicate flower. He’s not even sure why he’s crying. He’d just been- been so scared. 

“Louis,” Harry’s voice is low. Louis hates it. Absolutely despises the caution in it, like Louis’ some nervous animal that needs soothing. Hates it because it’s true. “Let me see.” 

Louis wipes the hand over his face to smear away whatever traces there are of sweat, snot, and tears. With one last gross sniffle Louis blinks his head clear and places his hand over the one that’s been glued to his side since the first bullet ripped through the backseat. Louis looks down and sees nothing but the torn and stained jumper scrunched around his starkly white hand. The blood is no longer hot. It sticks between his fingers like syrup and Louis’ lip threatens to waver again when he tries to forcefully let go. 

Heat burns his cheeks. It shouldn’t be so hard. 

“I can’t.” He admits with a scratchy throat. 

Harry shifts beside him. Louis hardly sees what he’s doing through the fog of pain and embarrassment. Harry’s hand completely covers both of Louis’. His other nudges under Louis’ chin and Louis can’t find anything to focus on until his watery eyes meet Harry’s clear greens. Understanding comes over him. 

Harry’s eyes harden. “Don’t look.” 

Louis bites his lip and nods small, okay. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t-

Harry’s hand steadily pulls away his own and Louis uses every ounce of his willpower to keep his eyes over Harry’s shoulder. The tug of the jumper peeling from his skin makes him choke on waves of nausea. Harry shushes him gently while leaning closer to Louis' hip. Infinity stretches between one blink and the next, and then Harry’s unbending and pulling the jumper back down. 

“A graze, the shock has done more than the bullet.” He squeezes Louis’ hand and Louis can’t help but stare at the smeared blood transferring between their palms. A gentle squeeze brings his focus to Harry’s eyes just in time to catch Harry swallow thickly. “You’ll be okay, little mouse.”

There’s a stutter over the nickname, something that weakens Harry’s voice and makes him suck in a breath. Louis stares, open mouthed, as Harry clenches his jaw continues. “I’d kill them twice if I had the chance.” 

The dark glint in Harry’s eye erases any doubts of his statement being false. 

Maybe because he’s from a tactile family, maybe because he’s rattled from recent events, maybe it’s something else entirely. Whatever the reason, Louis keeps his hand tight on Harry’s to keep the man in place. He’s so close. Close enough for Louis to give in and sink his face into the nook of Harry’s neck. He’s a little stiff as he waits for Harry’s reaction, but he wouldn’t be here with a torn open side if it weren’t for this man and the least he can do is deal with Louis’ little breakdown for a few more minutes. 

Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move to push him off or ask what Louis thinks he’s doing like most men would. Instead the arm not trapped in Louis’ crushing grip winds around Louis’ shoulders and presses lightly on the back of his head. Harry’s body is warm and solid. Louis’ free hand digs its way through Harry’s layers to lay flat against Harry’s chest and feel the rhythm of his breathing. It feels like the only certain thing. 

Needle sharp uncertainty digs itself back into Louis’ brain. Niall’s words from earlier have finally clicked into place.

“It’s not the first time.” 

Harry’s chest stills under him, his voice terse, “You’ve been shot before?” 

Louis shakes his head wearily, “No, the attack. Your house was targeted the night we met.” 

Which is a trite way of putting their first encounter. Harry’s fingertips curl around the hair on the back of Louis’ neck with just enough pressure to be distracting. Louis pulls back. There’s a wet spot where his face had pressed into Harry’s suit, but it’s the least of the damage done to the torn fabric. 

“How would you know?”

“Irish,” Louis tilts his head towards the front seat and Harry hums darkly. Louis licks his bottom lip, the gut-wrenching hollowness he’s been trying to outrun for years catching in his throat and making it hard for the words to come out, “Is that why… ” 

Is that why Harry left him? 

It’s the first question he’d bit back on the sofa, and it’s been echoing louder in his mind since Niall spoke to him, but he hasn’t decided which answer he wants to hear so he lets the question trail away and prays Harry didn’t hear the tight words. Hope is a stupid thing, and right now Louis desperately wants to hold onto it for a little longer. 

The car rolls to a stop. 

“Harry, a word if ya mind.” Niall is gone without waiting for a response. 

Harry’s face hardens. Louis pulls back so they’re out of each other’s space and Harry waits long enough that Louis could repeat his attempt of a question if he wants to. But he doesn’t really want to. Harry follows Niall. Seconds later a pair of keys fly into Louis' lap before the door shuts. Louis scowls to hide his begrudging curl of amusement. 

Louis sits back fully in the leather with a pained sigh and wearily takes stock of their surroundings through the tinted window. The space is still empty but for the car he’s in and the two men several yards away, the outer walls too shadowed to make out the distance of. It’s the imitation batcave Malik dumped him in four days ago. 

Christ. Has it only been four days? He leans his forehead against the cool glass. The pain is becoming a throb instead of sharp, and without the flush of adrenaline it’s starting to radiate a deep ache along his side, sucking his energy. 

He doesn’t give into it. He’s tired, but he’s also tired of being in the dark. Slowly he clicks open the car door and lets it crack open just enough to so the voices of the two arguing men ring clear. 

“You’re not thinking it through. I don’ gotta tell ya for the thousandth time, the bigger you are the more you’re worth dead.”

“This has always been the plan.”

“Not now, not this way. We was gonna cut off the head and keep the body running like a proper bust.”

“Never would have worked and you know it. You can’t buy loyalty.”

“It woulda worked long enough.” Niall growls, a hand flying to his hair to clutch at it in habit. “Better than this cocked up mess you’ve got us in over some sanctuary bullshite.”

“You know better than anyone he was my sanctuary when I needed it,” Harry says so simply, like it’s nothing but truth. 

The words send sparks shooting through Louis’ veins. 

Since the moment he left the posh hotel room Louis’ figured he’d be the only one to remember that night as something monumental, important. Life changing. The fierceness in Harry’s eyes now makes him question how Harry remembers it. If he’d been escaping the chaos of the night by finding something certain. Finding Louis. 

Oblivious to the gravity of Harry’s admission, Niall paces with hands on his hips and jacket flared out. 

A sonorous note vibrates the floor as one of the walls moves. Louis tenses. Another car, sleek and silver, glides in. The wall replaces itself as the driver pops open their door and climbs out. Louis curses his own surprise when the sunglasses lift to reveal Shawn, boyish smile firmly in place despite his ripped clothes and a smear of blood along his chin. 

Shawn doesn’t move until Niall tilts his head toward the car Louis’ in, and it’s so small a movement to catch from this far away but Louis still sees Niall’s limbs loosen the moment their eyes meet. Then he’s turning back to Harry. 

“What the shite were you gonna do if I hadn’t made contact already? Two weeks ago there’s no way I coulda supplied the demand you’re gonna be facing.”

That catches Louis’ attention, another piece of the puzzle slotting together. Niall’s old money, anyone could see it in the family crest he wears on his finger and the drive to his property lined with oaks older than Louis’ nan. That’s the thing about narcotics, they’ve been around as long as people have been miserable, and like money, they always have to come from somewhere. No doubt Niall’s throne is built on the sufferings high. He’s the supplier, the financial backer, the tit to Harry’s distributing, profit making tat. 

“I trusted you’d find a way.” Harry shrugs languidly. 

“Fuck the trust, you owe me.” Niall steps closer and jabs a finger towards Harry in accusation.

“Is that so?” 

The Irishman steps back so they can size each other up. Louis feels an invisible hand suffocating him with the sudden tension. The two had been close at the party, seemed comfortable with each other in a rare way, but now he keeps his eyes on Niall’s hands expecting him to pull a weapon. His breath catches at sudden movement, but it’s only Niall tousling his own hair again. 

Niall scowls at Harry. “You better have a brilliant pool boy uniform.” 

Louis slumps with relief. 

The door across the back bench opens and startles Louis from his eavesdropping, a flicker of pain echoing from his injury at the movement. Bouncy curls first, Shawn’s gangly limbs somehow pile into the back seat. His grin is wide when it meets Louis.

“Mam and da’ fighting again?” Then he catches sight of Louis' bloody side and his smile wipes completely off. “Shit, are you okay?” 

“Do I look alright to you, mate?”

The tone is a little harsh for the genuine concern on Shawn’s face, but Louis thinks he’s earned the right to be pissed, if not at the kid then the world in general. The day has been playing with his emotions like a rubber band.

“They’re not gonna take long, promise. Harry’ll take care of you quick.”

“He can keep his filthy paws away from me, thanks. I’ll bleed out right here just so he’s gotta replace the fucking car.” 

Shawn startles away from him at the harsh words. His lips mimic a goldfish before the words spill out.

“But you’re Louis.” Shawn says with too much vehemence, like that’s supposed to mean something Louis doesn’t have the mental capacity to unpack right now. 

They sit in a tense silence in the back seat. Niall and Harry’s voices have tuned down to a low rumble Louis could make sense of if he tried hard enough, but his eyes are starting to droop no matter how wide he presses them open. In short time he slumps against the door.

A gentle hand eases him away from the window and Louis’ weight falls gently into something warm. It’s not until he hears a click that he registers he’s been buckled in and he’s curled himself against someone. A flash of embarrassment jolts Louis with enough energy to try leaning the other way, berating himself for somehow falling asleep on the kid of all people. 

The broad hand returns to his shoulder and keeps him from going too far. A deep hum hushes him as the heavy scent of pine and lavender licks into his mind. Louis squints open his eyes enough to see the profile of Shawn sitting in the front seat, a thick hand with a single gold ring placed heavily in his lap like it belongs. The world outside is a blur. 

Louis doesn’t know how he missed the round of musical chairs it must have taken to get everyone sorted, or when the car started moving. It’s slightly alarming. Or rather, he can acknowledge the fact he should be alarmed, but at the moment he’s unable to feel anything but the soothing thrum of the road beneath him and the way his lungs are syncing to the steady beat of the heart under his ear.

Harry’s right. After a hot shower he dozes in for several long minutes, Louis stands in front of the mirror and winces at the sight of his hip. There’s a decent amount of raw flesh and it stings like a bastard, but he’s going to be okay. 

Louis’ flat on his back on the sofa and staring at the ceiling. There’s some mid-morning match on the telly he’s paying no attention to because they’re not teams he has enough respect to watch. If he looks for them, there are clues to whatever happened here yesterday. A few patches where the drywall is wet. Tiny shards of glass under a number of windows cleaner than the rest. Newer. And from where Louis’ sprawled on his back he sees a spot on the ceiling where someone missed two drops of blood. He looks at them so long his vision blurs. Wonders if Shawn is the reason they’re there. 

The house has been empty since he woke, something he’s not too upset over. Louis’ stomach rolls with embarrassment at the memory of the day before and the way he’d completely lost his composure. Yet, beneath the embarrassment there’s something else, something not sitting right. What is Harry playing at? 

Perhaps his inflated ego made him see Louis as nothing more than a scared child, he sure as hell treated Louis like one when he’d all but tossed him into the car. Louis could understand the instinct to comfort kids, but maybe it’s more. Maybe there's an ulterior motive behind the softness Harry had shown, and whatever the unknown hides leaves a copper taste in Louis’ mouth from chewing the inside of his cheek. It’s worsened by the narrowest sliver of hope Harry might have comforted Louis for no other reason than because he wanted to. 

Louis rolls onto his front and groans into the sofa cushion. Mind games aren’t Louis’ thing, he’s already made it clear. If Harry has something to say he should be up front about it. Louis just wants the week to be over.

The sound of heels in the hall makes Louis spring upright. Suddenly the match on screen is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. He keeps his eyes glued to the small figures running on the green and valiantly tries to ignore the way his nerves stand on end like they’re electrified by the presence he feels behind him. It’s fear, he tells himself. The reason his heart is pounding in his chest is the fear of having his back turned to an animal as dangerous as a prowling wolf. 

Harry steps into his peripheral at the other side of the sofa. 

“Do you know what I like most about you?”

Louis cautions a hesitant glance and immediately looks away. He’s not quick enough to hide his shock. Decorating the tight trousers and low cut blouse and the great expanse of Harry’s bare chest is a bold splash of blood. Likely not his, considering the smirk and relaxed stance. Louis keeps his eyes glued to the screen until they burn. 

“How much it pisses you off.” 

Louis can’t help it now, his confusion waylaying any attempt of focus. 

“What are you on about?” He squints. 

Harry’s grin is near manic, an alarming fact given his current state. Gone is the reserved man sipping cocoa, in his place is a feral creature. Louis’ eyes keep catching on the solid planes of his pec muscles shifting with a sheen of sweat and blood. He grinds his jaw and sits up fully so his feet touch the floor, his focus solidly on Harry’s eyes as the man walks forward. 

Hands on his hips, Harry doesn’t stop until he’s between Louis’ legs with his crotch unashamedly on display at eye level. He smells strongly of sweat and cologne. Louis glares while Harry’s smile grows delighted. 

“It makes you angry, the way you want me.” Louis’ face twists into a scowl at Harry’s chuckle, “It’s okay little mouse. I don’t touch things that bite.”

Louis should be scared by the obvious way bloodshed has brought Harry into a twisted good mood, practically drunk on it. He should be frightened by the reappearance of the cocky bastard he’d always thought Harry to be. Instead he clenches his thighs to keep himself seated and fights to maintain eye contact. 

“I don’t touch things covered in blood,” Louis spits.

He makes a dire mistake. His control lapses for a split second, but that’s all it takes. Harry hums, dancing out of reach now he’s apparently had his fun. 

“Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. You don’t care about the blood half as much as you wish you did,” He calls over his shoulder while strutting down the hall. 

Louis closes his eyes and knocks his head onto the sofa. It’s no use. Seared onto the back of his eyelids is the defined outline of Harry’s cock in tight trousers. Louis’ fists clench the meat of his thighs to keep from touching himself. He exhales a long, deep breath. 

His footsteps are heavy with anger when he rises and marches the same path Harry took down the hall. Behind him his door slams. He’s not angry Harry’s playing some new perverted game with him. He’s angry because Harry is right. 

The hot water bill is going to be through the roof, but if one man can afford it, it’s Harry Fucking Styles. 

The dresser in Louis’ room keeps accumulating clothes. Given what Harry wears, Louis’ rather thankful for whatever ounce of sense convinced the man to provide Louis with rather mundane t-shirts and joggers. There are even a pair of basic black swim trunks. Louis eyes them now.

There’s only so much telly he can watch. Harry left shortly after he swanned around, surely he’ll remain out stealing babies or whatnot until the evening. Perhaps swimming isn’t the smartest thing to be doing with a gouge in his side, but Louis does a fine enough job of using half a roll of medical tape he found in the loo to seal the bandages over his wound. It’ll have to do. 

The shorts, like everything else Louis’ worn here, are a size too big. They ride low on his hips in a way he might be bothered by if he was with the kids, but they stay on while he tries to find the indoor pool. Twice he loses his way. Not bothering to track down the light switch Louis nears the edge with only underwater pool lights rippling around the shadows. He’s taken the girls to the local pool for lessons before, a few birthday parties even, but it’s been a long time since he’s done more than wait with an eagle eye on the sidelines to make sure everyone kept their heads above water. 

The water is on the brink of being chilled. His skin pebbles at first touch on his toes but he pushes himself to jump in. With a gasp he resurfaces, his body momentarily shocked by the quick change in temperature before he kicks off into a front crawl. Water parts around him. His arms work in time with his lungs to keep him afloat and moving forward. He dives down and kicks off the far wall to start a new lap. 

Time disappears in the water. Nothing exists but the motion of his body, a rhythm of air in his lungs and his hands piercing the surface to a three time beat he doesn’t hear, but feels. 

At some point he lifts his head to breathe and he catches sight of something that shouldn’t be there. His head returns underwater before he worries about what it was, his mind acknowledging it’s existence but not letting him think about it. He’s got seven laps left in his set and he sinks deeper into his rhythm to cover the emotions trying to distract his focus. 

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. 

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Flip.

On the last lap of his set his hand arcs to slap the edge of the pool instead of water. He surfaces from the trance swimming put him in and lifts himself to sit on the edge, panting heavily. Damn. Too long since he’s had time to do a proper work out. 

He shakes his head to spray out the worst of the water, then flips it back with a hand to keep it slicked out of his face. Without anything left to occupy him, his gaze drifts to the man on his left. Harry sits on the edge, legs paddling gently in the water and leading up to a pair of trunks so short his pale thighs are bare. The full display of toned muscle makes it obvious he utilises the pool or other means to keep in shape.

Louis has something wicked poised on his tongue when his eyes finish their journey up Harry’s body and land on his face. He’s unashamedly staring back at him, but in place of the expected leer there’s a quizzical tilt to his head. A spark of mischief has Louis kicking forward. 

Just as planned, Harry’s expression grows comical as Louis moves closer in the water, not stopping until he’s perched perfectly between the man’s legs. His elbows rest on the man’s knees so he can lift out of the water, his chest and arm muscles flexing easily as water rolls over the curve of them. The position puts a small stretch on his wounded side but not enough to make him pull away. Harry’s surprisingly warm in the small place where their bare skin touches. 

It’s a moment before Harry responds. He leans back on his fisted hands, creating as much space between them as possible in the position. Louis finds his finger idly stroking over a small dip in Harry’s kneecap in retaliation. 

“You’re an athlete,” Harry states, voice tense but not a question. 

It’s not the reaction Louis’d hoped for, whatever that was, and it knocks his readily poised quip out of his mind.

“Was,” Louis corrects. “Or was going to be.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s talking about it. The life he could have had, the one he would have if he was nothing but a twenty two year old with no responsibilities, running around with Liam on the pitch at Keepmoat. 

“It is Liam then.” Louis’ head snaps up at the name and worries for a split second about mind reading before he rules it out as absurd. “He’s the one who got you in contact with Zayn.” 

“Zayn?”

“Zayn Malik.”

Louis’ mind stumbles over the fact Malik has another name, like a real human being, before the implications drop in place. He pulls away in shock. 

“How the fuck could you possibly know that?”

Harry’s brow creases like he can’t understand Louis’ anger. “He hasn’t told you?”

Louis’ mind whirls, a hand reaching out to absently hold the ledge and keep him afloat. All he can think of is how Liam had insisted Harry was trustworthy. Clearly there was more to the story. 

“You’ve met Liam?” 

Immediately Louis knows his surprise has made Harry suspicious by the way he eyes him. 

He answers slowly, “I gather you aren’t the only one with secrets, sweetheart.”

The phone call with Liam had hinted at the possibility, but it had been so absurd Louis hadn’t truly considered it. He doesn’t like the way he’s starting to question the most reliable person in his life, especially when the most chaotic person is the one causing it. Liam doesn’t keep secrets. Not from Louis. 

Harry doesn’t give him too long to sit on his internal crisis before asking, “What kept you from joining the team?”

The question does the job of knocking Louis off track, and perhaps the reason he answers is because he’s a bit desperate for the change in topic so he doesn’t have to address the ache in his chest. 

“Players aren’t paid enough right off the bat. Would take too long and the kids need me around.” 

A shitty reason really, when he risked losing them everyday. But he wants to be able to pay for their dance and swimming lessons, buy them the shiny toys the other kids in their class got for Christmas, to have time to braid their hair and push them on the swings. He made the impulse decision, like he always fucking does, and once the money started coming in from drug running it was too hard to leave such a good paying job that left him enough time to be the big brother he wanted to be. 

“Your loyalty is admirable.”

“What?” Louis nearly falls into the pool. 

“Do you truly think I don’t have ears in the police commission? I keep an eye on my employees, I saw your statement the moment it was filed.” 

Louis had assumed Harry never heard his name before seeing him on the cement floor of the garage. Formalities hadn’t been something covered when they first met. Louis hadn’t even known who Harry was until he saw the article about his rising power weeks after. His stomach squeezes, both with the thought Harry’s known the entire time who Louis was and at the memory of his morning spent at the precinct. The words he’d said. 

“You’re not a piss stain.” 

“What a compliment.” Harry murmurs in a tone not quite lighthearted. His head drops back to look at the watery light reflected on the ceiling. 

“You’re not what I expected.” Louis admits quietly, but enough for Harry to look at him with eyes that seem hungry for his words. Louis meets his gaze. “You’re human.” 

He lifts himself to stand and pad away before he does something stupid like pushing a mafia king into a pool of water so he doesn’t have to see the open look on his face. He doesn’t think about how even half naked as Harry had been, for once Louis had been more focused on the most interesting part of him. His eyes. 

Harry is absent for the next two days. Louis doesn’t hear his footsteps in the hall or see a single dish by the sink as evidence the man ever steps foot in the house. There’s only one day left in the week and Louis tries to convince himself the itch under his skin is impatience to leave this prison of a house. Not worry. 

Would anyone even know he was here? How long would it take until he knew? Surely Niall wouldn’t be enough of an arse to forget about him if Harry… if he never returned. 

Louis spends several hours silently freaking out. Then he goes for a long swim and doesn’t, does not, feel disappointed when he finishes twice as many laps as the day before and remains alone in the pool. There’s nothing he can immediately do about it, they didn’t talk about the possibility of something like this happening and now Louis thinks that was a really fucking big oversight. 

Shoving his damp body back into loose clothes he reasons with himself. He’ll stay out the rest of the week in the big empty house and have his full melt-down on the last day if the situation calls for it. 

Several hours of laying motionless in bed, he finally admits sleep is a lost cause. With a sigh he pushes the heavy duvet off. He tracks his way in the dark to the living room, navigating easily through the corridors of the large house. He flicks on the telly to reruns of old footie games and lowers the volume to one little notch, just enough to know someone’s commentating but not quite enough to follow what they’re saying. A jersey number catches his eye. Usually he’s pleased to see the bold ‘PAYNE’ above number four. Now it makes him squirrelly. 

He taps on the phone in his hand to bring up their limited conversation, Liam telling him short stories about the goings on at home and a few photos of the kids Louis has spent too much time staring at. They look happy. Louis locks his phone and tosses it into a cushion. He’ll talk with Liam after the week is over, or maybe he won't. Maybe he’ll just put it all out of his mind and move on to a life where he never has to think about it. 

A noise in the hallway wakes him. He’s still on the sofa with a spot of drool on the pillow under his head, the light of the telly- and good God, is that golf? Disgusting- the only light to see by. 

Slowly, Louis sits up and rubs at his eyes. He makes it halfway down the hall before he finds the mass of shadow that must be Harry. A thousand words run through his mind and he opens his mouth not knowing which will come out.

“Am I safe now?”

The shadow turns, the movement of broad shoulders the only tell with such little light to see by. There’s something thickening the air and filling the darkness, something that makes Louis’ gut flips like he’s balancing on an edge. Time and Louis’ nerves stretch before he gets an answer. 

“Yes. You’ll be home in the morning.” Harry’s voice is short. Tight. 

Louis peers at him in the pitch black corridor. It’s hard to see with so little light, but he could swear… he thinks… he rubs his left eye again just to be sure. 

Harry’s in a plain black t-shirt. Not silk, no ruffles, just a normal cotton black shirt. In the silence Harry runs a hand through his hair and his hands. They’re bare, no rings in sight. Just strong, calloused fingers threaded through Harry’s curls like he’s used to them being longer, like when Louis knew him before. Without the usual flair he doesn’t look like some ethereal myth. He looks like a tangible man within Louis’ reach. 

Fuck. Louis always was impulsive. He takes a step forward. 

“I won’t bite.” 

Harry’s hand stills in his hair. Louis' eye is caught by the veins standing out in relief on his powerful forearms. Harry’s muscles go rigid before they melt into fluid movement. There’s little warning before he’s close enough for Louis to breathe in. Their chests skim against each other. The heat of Harry is a fire Louis wants to throw himself into, death by scorching agony be damned. 

“You are very tempting, little mouse,” their noses brush feather light and Louis aches to push onto his toes and taste the familar words, “but I must decline.” 

Dry lips brush against Louis’ cheek before Harry’s hands push Louis’ hips into the wall. The man uses Louis’ unbalanced moment to step out of reach. When he speaks again he’s nearly made it to the end of the hall and his tone is sobering. 

“You do not want a starving man with your name on his lips. Especially if the man is myself.” 

Harry’s obscure form disappears into the shadow of the night. Louis braces himself against the wall and shudders, coming down from the intensity of the moment. He reaches down to adjust himself through the soft joggers.

“Fuck.” He whimpers under his breath.

He returns to his room by touch in the dark. Only when he arrives does he remember it’s not really his room. It’s one of many in the vast depths of this empty mansion in possession of a singular man. A hook tethered in Louis’ belly wrenches painfully at the thought of his family. Harry told him the deal was done, nothing could possibly change between now and a few hours when the sun comes up. Louis can’t spend a second more in this place. 

He closes the door to the bedroom and returns to the sofa to find the telly still amusing itself. After the line connects Louis speaks in a steady voice. 

“Liam, I need another favour.” 

Louis thanks small mercies it’s much easier to leave Harry’s fortress than it is to enter. The halls are still dark as he winds through them. He doesn’t try particularly hard to be quiet, but his sock feet barely make noise regardless. There’s nothing wrong about what he’s doing. No reason to be sneaking around. Goosebumps still roll along his arms with a jitteriness similar to how he felt sneaking past his mum as a teen. 

The lump in his stomach isn’t guilt. He’s got no reason to feel guilty for giving Harry a spoonful of his own medicine. 

The stillness of the night is unnaturally eerie, the sound of his feet softly striking the cement driveway out of place. He keeps going. He doesn’t need a code to open the gate from the inside, and besides his phone he leaves the property with nothing but joggers and a baggy shirt to his name. Like he promised to be, Liam’s idling two blocks away. Louis doesn’t fully realise what he’s done until he’s sitting his arse down in the passenger seat. He stares blankly through the windshield. 

“Not yet.” Louis says to stave off any questions. He’s not ready to have any form of conversation just yet. 

Liam’s heavy gaze eventually slides from Louis’ face and the car shifts into gear. Louis’ fists turn white when they take a corner a little too fast. Liam doesn’t say anything, but the needle on the speedometer noticeably lowers. He’s a good friend like that. 

At some point Louis stops thinking about getting further from Harry and more about getting closer to home. His leg bounces restlessly. Everyone thought he was on a work trip, his last point of contact being a quick text saying he didn’t have time to get an extended phone plan before he left. Really he hadn't wanted to struggle telling more lies, and he’d worried his resolve to stay away would break if he saw too many silly selfies sent during moments he should have been with them. He hasn’t seen anything but the rare photo and short text from Liam. It’s only been a week, but damn. He misses his family. 

The clock on the dash glows 2:04 as the car eases to a stop. Louis’ family home sits snugly among the neighbourhood Louis could walk blind. He’s halfway out the door when he crouches over to meet Liam’s face for the first time that night. 

“Come by in the morning for a cuppa, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Liam’s mouth twitches with a gentle smile matching his tone. 

Louis shuts the car door quietly. 

In the dark he fumbles the spare key duct taped to the bottom of a long-dead plant holder. Frustration builds when he has to dig it up from where he fumbles and drops it in the dry dirt. Finally his fingers catch on the smooth metal and with the snick of the latch he eases his way into the house. The smell of mum’s shepherd's pie and seven different people warms the air and loosens his shoulders. 

With every step further into the house his eyes grow heavier until he lands face down in his bed, too exhausted to manage lifting the covers. Within two slow breaths he’s blissfully asleep. 

Yelling wakes him. Phoebe. No, Daisy. Something about magic markers and the colour purple. Louis groans into his pillow for less than a second before he’s pushing himself to his feet and stumbling into the hallway. 

He manages enough energy to call out, “Oi oi!” 

“Louis!” 

Instant squeals explode within the house. A stampede of feet growing louder as they track him down. Louis gets one decent intake of oxygen before it’s knocked from him by a thousand bodies. 

“Missed you so much-”

“Did you bring anything back for me-”

“I lof a thooth!” 

“Piggyback! You promised!” 

Louis’ grin is so wide he can barely see through squinted eyes. Buried at the bottom of the squirming dog pile of excited chatter and giggles, he can finally breathe easy. It’s the smell of Lottie’s hairspray and one of the older twins’ fingers sticky with honey and the younger's with school paste. It smells like home. 

Once the kids have given him enough room to walk he rights himself, a hand gently holding his tender side after the commotion irritated the scabbing wound. Behind his rambunctious clan he catches sight of Liam leaning against the wall with a smile rivalling Louis’ in fondness. 

Louis turns to the kids, “Go make sure your rooms are tidy, you bet I’m gonna come check!” 

Faster than he can blink all the smiling faces turn to frowns and the giggling into groans.

“Worst. Brother. Ever.” Fizzy mutters while stomping away. It makes Louis glow. 

He dims the moment his eyes turn to Liam’s. They hug with Liam’s arms tight around his shoulders in a way that instinctively makes another notch loosen in Louis’ spine. Despite whatever secrets he’s hiding, Louis fucking missed his best friend. 

“Your mum’s at work, I was just dropping some food off and making sure the littles weren’t causing a fuss for Lot’s.”

Louis runs a hand through his own hair and huddles close to speak with Liam without the kids hearing. Texting didn’t cut it when Louis needed to have a proper freakout with the one person he could talk freely with. 

“Thank you, Liam. I don’t know what I would have done, it was- I fucked up. What the fuck was I thinking pulling that shite?” 

“It’s my fault, I should have never-”

“No. I put them all in danger. First it was the police and then the knife, holy fuck, I’d be dead if-”

“Lou?”

Louis bites his tongue. Liam’s eyes widen in a mimic of his own. Fuck. 

“Hey Lottie,” Louis turns with a shaky smile, his eyes damp from the stage-whispered word vomit he’d been spilling to Liam and he hopes she writes it off as fallout from the emotional welcome. She’s hesitating behind them, leaning against the wall. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Of course, love.” He laughs like the question is silly. Of course. 

“It’s just… those aren’t your clothes, and you don’t have any luggage… “ She picks at a dent in the wall from when Earnest got excited learning new words and threw a book instead of a ball, “And you left your passport.” 

She meets his eyes then with the bright intelligence of someone who won't be lied to. Seventeen, Christ, she’s barely a kid. Louis can’t get away with fooling her anymore, even if it’s to protect her from ugly truths. He needs a little longer until he can manage following through with that though, and he’s still got Liam hovering beside him. One thing at a time. 

“I’ll tell you everything, I swear it, but right now I need a good shower and hot cuppa. Just let me have a little time, yeah?” 

“Okay.” She dithers, then launches herself into his arms. She pulls back just as abruptly with her blue eyes a little damp. “Missed you.”

“Don’t think you won’t still be in trouble if your room is a mess.” 

She scoffs and turns down the hall, attitude back in place. Louis sighs. When he looks back to Liam his entire demeanor changes. 

“He knew you.” Louis accuses without wasting time. 

Liam looks over Louis’ shoulder at the hall of open doorways. There’s a flush to his cheeks he only gets when he’s nervous. 

“I reckon you need to spend a night surrounded by your family in your own home. I have houseplants dying on my window sill. Text me?” 

Louis narrows his eyes. Something behind Liam’s puppy dog pout makes him want to demand answers immediately, but there’s truth to his friend’s words. Louis could use some time to digest everything that’s happened before he throws himself into more chaos. 

“You bet your arse I will.” He promises. 

Liam bumps him fondly as he passes. He stops with one foot out the door and looks over his shoulder. 

“I’d do anything for you. You know that, yeah?” 

Louis nods his head, caught off guard by a swell of emotion lodging itself in his throat. Trust Liam? Always.

“Yeah.” 

Liam nods, “All right then.”

He pats Louis on the shoulder and closes the door with care. 

Louis swallows thickly and physically shakes himself out of it. He has other important matters at hand. 

“Okay. Fee-fie-foe, here I come!” 

A chorus of frantic “No!” echoes down the hall and Louis smiles. This is where he needs to be. This is where he belongs. 

Louis wakes habitually at the arse crack of dawn. He makes himself a cuppa and huddles in his favourite green jumper at the kitchen table, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over a mark in the aged wood from his own childhood temper. The first sip throws him unsettlingly off balance. He’s brewed the same Yorkshire blend his entire life, and yet somehow he’s caught off-guard by the lack of floral bergamot he’s had for the past week. Stubbornly he sucks down a bigger mouthful to get over himself. Earl Grey is for tourists and prats.

The house wakes slowly around him, little sounds of life stirring until one by one they trail in and out of the kitchen. Louis puts together a full breaky when he finds the fridge stuffed, no doubt thanks to Liam, and takes the hugs and kisses of thanks gracefully, even when Ernest smears beans in his hair.

He gives Dorris the piggyback ride she’s due on the walk to her school and tags along with the older girls to their own, staying back once they’re close when they try to convince him he’s an embarrassment. 

“What are you even wearing? No way. People can’t know we’re related,” Lottie shakes her head of perfectly curled strands at his joggers and jumper, shoving her book bag higher on her shoulder as she walks ahead towards her school. 

The thing is, Louis is a big brother. So he follows a few yards behind her and once she makes it to the entrance he yells loud enough to turn a few heads, “Hey Lottie! Love you’s!” 

She turns around and flips him off with a smile. “Hate you’s!” 

He chuckles and turns to leave with a self-satisfied smirk firmly in place. 

“Hey sweetheart!”

Louis jumps and turns wildly at the name. But the voice is all wrong and the boy who spoke walks past Louis’ frozen figure on the grass to kiss a pretty girl in front of her giggling friends. Louis rolls his shoulders down and carries on towards home, biting his lip to distract himself from how the nickname brought a feeling closer to relief than dread. He keeps his eyes pointed to the ground for the rest of his walk.

Liam’s on the step when Louis trots up the garden path. The warmth of the morning fades quickly at the sight of him. He follows into the house and Louis resumes his favourite seat at the right hand of the kitchen table, Liam taking the chair across. 

Yesterday had done Louis good. Grounded him like he needed to be for this conversation. Or so he thought. 

“Do you remember Sophia?”

Louis purses his lips, blowing out his cheeks. Sure, that was one way to start. 

“The girl who shattered your heart into a million pieces and made you swear off relationships for the rest of your life? That Sophia?” 

Liam winces. Louis feels a twinge of guilt, but he’s full of jitters about where this is going to go and Liam brought her up in the first place. 

“Yeah, but like. Do you actually remember meeting her, in person?”

Louis narrows his eyes, wondering how this will link to Harry. He plays along and tries to remember the girl. Liam’s shown him a photo or two, must have at some point because Louis has a vague face to put to the name, but she’d been around at the same time Louis was a little busy selling himself on street corners and sleeping through the day.

“No,” He admits. 

Liam nods. “She doesn’t exist.” 

Louis falters, the rug pulled from under him. 

“What do you mean? You’ve been faking heartache for- for attention or something?”

“No, the heartache was real, but it wasn’t over Sophia...” Liam’s mouth works without noise and Louis waits patiently for whatever it is that has him so caught up. Liam always did get a little emotional whenever his relationship with Sophia was mentioned, which was why Louis tended not to mention it. 

“It was Zayn.”

“Zayn?” Louis’ reality flickers at the name. 

“Zayn Malik? Your boss?”

No. It’s a joke. A really fucking unfunny joke. Liam’s looking at him imploringly like Louis could ever forget the fucker and shite, what a-

“The very same Zayn Malik that nearly killed me in an alley?”

Liam winces. “I’m sure he was just trying to scare you, he wouldn’t have-”

“He pulled a knife on me!” 

“Well I haven’t seen him in a while now, have I?” Liam raises his voice to match Louis’ yell. With a big gulp of air Liam deflates and runs a shaky hand over his short hair. A quiet curse punctuates his explosion like he can feel it too, how quickly the threads between them have already started to unweave. 

Louis tries to wrap his mind around it. He can’t. The inside of his head is just a spinning wheel of death. He pushes forward, hoping skipping over this Everest of a road bump will provide more answers than questions. 

“Okay. So you and Mal- Zayn, Christ.” Louis shakes his head and blinks in hopes it’ll ward off any sort of mental image from manifesting in his brain. “And why didn’t you tell me?” 

“He’s a man.” 

“Okay.” Louis nods, familiar with the concept. 

Liam’s eyes bug out. 

“No, not okay!” And he looks completely panicked about it while Louis' left feeling like he’s missed something. 

“I’m lost.”

Liam looks at him like he’s an idiot, thin lips and hard eyes. “Louis, I’m on one of the largest football teams of the nation.”

“There are several out men in the league.” Louis shrugs.

“But I’m not gay! Not- there’s nothing wrong with homosexuality, Lou, but men don’t do it for me. I love women, legitimately love them. When it’s Liam-alone-time, it’s all women. Zayn’s just-” He holds his hands in front of him like his palms hold whatever definition there is for Zayn Malik, a frustrated sound coming from the back of his throat. He gives up with a huff. “It doesn’t matter. I was with him, and he’s mates with Harry so he was around. Now you know.”

Louis blinks. Squints. 

“You’re kind of an arshole,” Liam frowns as Louis continues, “You really think I would have been upset you were with a guy?” 

“No. I thought you’d be more upset the guy was part of a mob, and the only reason we met-” Liam cuts himself off and looks away, leaning back from the crouched position they’d both taken over the table. 

Louis purses his lips. He doesn’t care what Liam was going to say, he’s still pissed his best mate thought he couldn’t tell him something like this. Liam nudged Louis in Zayn’s direction after the ‘Sophia’ mess started, which meant they’d already split by the time Louis started working with the bastard. He wonders if Liam would have told him if they’d still been together. 

“Is that why he’s hated me this whole fucking time? Because you and I are friendly like?” 

Liam shrugs looking uncomfortably guilty. “Probably.” 

Louis taps his fingers along the worktop as he rearranges his perspective on every interaction he’s had with Malik. He still hates the guy. In fact, he might hate him more given the state Liam was in over everything that went down during the breakup. 

“Is there anything else?” 

“Like what?” 

Louis spreads his hands out. “I don’t know, like you’re secretly the Prince of Genovia or summat?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Everything I told you about Sophia, it all happened more or less with Zayn. He’s the only guy, we met at some stupid posh party some of the team was at and he was there with Harry.”

Louis hums, “Yeah, I went to one of such parties recently. That’s where things went tits up.” 

He tells Liam a brief recap of what happened between the stupid pink sunglasses and yesterday morning. Liam butts in with occasional questions and exclamations. Louis doesn’t mention his first time meeting Harry, or the rejection on the last night. 

They hug at the door, Louis on his tiptoes to wind his arms around Liam’s hunched shoulders. He’ll address Liam’s obvious sexuality crisis later. Right now Louis still needs some time to sort his own life out. 

“I’m not very happy with you right now, but you’re still me best mate, y’know?” 

His words are muffled into Liam’s shirt. Liam pats his back as they part. 

“Yeah, I know. See ya soon, Lou.”

Louis gets a job. He doesn’t immediately need a job thanks to the final pay cheque from Harry that finds its way to his doorstep, but the cash won't last forever and he needs to spend his days doing something. So he’s a lifeguard at the local swimming pool because even if he’s more partial to footie, lifeguard pays more than any assistant coach job he could get without going back to school. He tells his mum he got a large severance from the fake conference-holding job so she can cut back on the double-shifts and spend more time with the kids. 

Lottie starts doing better in school, Fizzy starts posting makeup videos online and it seems to make her happy, and the littles get into an arts and crafts phase that infects every garment in the washing with pink glitter for days. Two weeks after his career change Louis feels tentatively stable, happy even. Free. 

For the first time since they met years ago Louis doesn’t keep looking over his shoulder thinking Harry Styles wants something from him, so that is the exact moment he appears. Or rather, something of his ilk.

It starts, as every day does, with a chaotic morning in the Tomlinson household.

“Oi, that’s mine you dirty rascal.” Louis catches the hood of the green jumper Lottie pilfered to halt her skipping out the door. 

She turns on him with wide kohl lined eyes. 

“Louis! It’s so soft, c’mon please? Looks best on me with my new hair!” 

Louis narrows his eyes at her bleached head. She’s right, it does look rather good, but he’s not going to say such. He flips the hood up and pulls the strings so it’s low on her face. 

“There, an improvement.” 

“Wanker.” 

“Tosser.” Louis jokingly imitates her scowl.

“Children.” 

Louis clears his throat and smiles the ‘not-guilty’ smile he perfected at the age of five. “Mum, didn’t see ya there. Mornin’.” 

Lottie snickers and jumps away to catch up with the rest of the kids, all of whom are waving and shouting at their mum in parting. Louis loops an arm around his mum’s shoulders and waves them off with her from the doorway. 

He turns in and does the dishes from breakfast. Over the sink he chats with his mum about some cranky woman she has to deal with at work while she gets ready to meet friends for lunch. It seems like the first time in years he’s seen her leave the house in something other than scrubs. No doubt she feels the same, and she’s radiant with excitement about the occasion. Louis is momentarily struck with an overwhelming love for his mum and how hard she works for all of them. He squeezes her tight before she leaves. 

“Love you’s,” She says habitually while stepping out with her nose down in her purse to triple check it’s contents. 

“Love you’s,” he responds, the first to have heard it and first to repeat it. 

Once the door closes behind her the house is silent, but not in an eerie way like a mansion he keeps thinking of. Even without the family running around, the evidence of their existence is so boldly splashed across every square metre it’s evident the house is not vacant, simply waiting to be filled once more. 

Louis indulges in an excellent wank session where he most definitely doesn’t think about Harry, nor does he think about him in the following hot shower with the water pressure of a dripping tap. Afterwards he settles languidly on the sofa. He has a work shift later in the day, but until then he plans to be an absolute potato. The luxury of the moment is halted when he realises the clicker is missing.

With a sigh to the universe Louis starts shuffling around the cushions and crouches on the floor to peer into the depths under the sofa. His initial cheer of victory is halted as he drags the rectangle object into the light only to find a paperback. The cover is an obnoxiously shirtless man posing before an ocean sunset, the name of the author vaguely familiar. When he realises why Louis scowls and kicks it back where it came from. Sorry mum, but surely you can live without that one. 

He finds the clicker mixed in the bin of Ernest’s building blocks, little rascal, and flops heavily back into potato position. His arse is on the squishy cushion for less than five minutes when a key turns in the front door. Louis frowns, it’s too early for the kids to be back. 

He starts to sit up when a bone chilling sound reaches him. Sobbing. 

Louis scrambles towards the door and nearly crashes into Lottie in the hall. She throws herself at him in an absolute fit, sobbing so loud he can barely see. His arms automatically hold her tight. She’s trying to say something but having too much trouble breathing and crying to be coherent. 

“Lottie, hey Lot’s, breathe for me love,” He soothes, swaying her in place the way mum used to do for him. 

Motion catches his eye over Lottie’s shoulder. Out of the mud room and into the hallway steps Zayn Malik. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” Louis hisses.

Zayn’s face is pinched, his brooding figure clashing amongst the cheery household. Louis' arms cinch around his sister.

Zayn inclines his head to Lottie in Louis’ arms. “We can speak once she’s calmed.” 

Louis wants to fight it, wants to know what happened now, but he doesn’t want to distress Lottie anymore than she already is. He settles for glaring at Zayn over Lottie’s shoulder and rubbing her back. 

“C’mon love, let’s get you a cuppa and a cuddle, ya?” He’s just about to lead her into the kitchen when the front door opens and freezes them all. 

“Louis do you know where my-” His mum stops one step into the hallway with her purse hanging halfway off her arm, taking in Lottie still crying in Louis’ chest and the stranger. 

His mum’s eyes grow large and Louis would laugh at the matching look of surprise on Zayn’s face if he thought anything about this was funny. 

“Who’s this?” 

Lottie, who’d slowly been settling, starts a second wave of crying. 

Louis tries to use his eyes to communicate with Zayn, but he doesn’t know if he’s trying to say ‘fuck you’ or ‘help me.’

Mum doesn’t hesitate to take over the Lottie situation. She swallows her in a proper mum-hug and leads her into the kitchen for a cuppa while keeping an eye on Zayn like he’s a wild animal. Before his mum has a chance to start on a tirade about their heavily tattooed and scowling company Louis grabs Zayn by the elbow and drags him out of the house.

They burst into the garden and Louis turns on him. 

“What the fuck happened?” He hisses in an attempt to keep his voice too low for his mum to hear. 

“She was wearing your jumper,” Zayn accuses, like that explains everything. 

“So?” 

“They thought she was you.” 

Rage burns behind his eyes and Louis shoves Zayn in the chest. “I thought he said it was handled, that was the point-”

Zayn shoves him back. “He took down an entire syndicate, you reckon people aren’t gonna be pissed about it?”

“An entire… ?” Louis stumbles with horror, giving up ground. “I thought he was making a deal!”

Zayn looks at him like he thinks Louis is particularly slow and okay, it’s not Louis’ fucking fault no one tells him anything. Harry may have held the more valuable territory, but the Jenners were a huge organization for anyone. To have taken them all down in just one week should have been impossible. Louis recalls the day Harry returned with the evidence of bloodshed, of the two days he spent missing, of just how deep the shadows under his eyes had been on their parting. 

“Oh Christ,” Louis crouches over with hands on his knees, overwhelmed by the extent of what Harry’s done. He’s gonna- he swallows down at just the right time to stop himself from puking. 

“No one touched a hair on her head, she’s all shook from seeing something unpleasant. I brought her right back.” Zayn says, perhaps mistaking Louis’ reaction for worry over Lottie, which. Fuck, Lottie. How could Louis have let this happen? How useless did he have to be to not handle the one major duty of brotherhood: protect. 

Louis stands back upright, anger brushing aside his shock.

“Why were you there? Did you think she was me too?” Realisation dawns on him as he speaks. Of course Zayn thought she was him, why else would he have been there? “How long has he had me followed?” 

Zayn’s lips twitch in a grimace when Louis meets his eye. He doesn’t answer right away and Louis almost shoves him again. 

“Since the first night.”

Ringing starts in Louis’ ears. Two years. Harry’s had him followed. Harry’s known who and where he was this entire time, just like Louis was always so paranoid about. 

Louis takes his time to really look at the guy in front of him. A face so perfect you could glaze over it, no crooked nose or disproportionate forehead to stick out. A face that could blend in beneath a cap. How many hours did Louis spend looking over his shoulder swearing he could feel eyes on him? How many times did Louis walk right past him? 

Zayn Malik. Suddenly Louis remembers what he’d promised himself to do if he ever saw this arse again. 

Louis swings. Zayn easily catches his wrist before the hit lands, but he doesn’t see the knee Louis drives into his crotch. Louis watches him fold over with little satisfaction. It’s a fraction of the pain he’s seen his best friend in since ‘Sophia.’ Louis wants nothing more than to break his pretty little face. 

“That’s for Liam, you fucking cunt.”

“Louis,” Louis twirls to find his mum hesitantly leaning in the sliver of the doorway. “Is your guest staying for tea?” 

Louis glares down at Zayn. 

“He was just leaving.” He calls out. 

His mum ducks back into the house and the screen door bounces behind her. Louis lowers his voice again to address the crouched man. 

“He swore you’d stay away from here. Both of you.”

“He’s protecting you since you clearly need it,” Zayn says once he can stand straight. 

Louis’ started marching back to his door by then. He glares down from the front step, relishing the extra centimetres it gives him. 

“That’s not his place. Tell him I said back the fuck off.” 

He almost manages to duck inside when Zayn’s hand snags his arm with a severity Louis’ never seen. For the first time there’s no anger behind his words, just adamancy.

“You can’t decide for him that you don’t matter. How do you expect someone to turn their back on what they value?” 

Louis rips out of Zayn’s hold and turns his back. He speaks with his hand on the knob. 

“He’s made it quite clear how little he values me.” 

“You’re fucked if you can’t see it.” The back of Louis’ neck tingles as the hairs there stand on end. “Sometimes keeping someone safe is more important than keeping their respect.” 

Louis rips the door open. The second he’s in he slams it shut. Eyes squeezed closed he takes a deep breath and knocks his head back on the solid wood. Fucking Zayn Malik. Fucking Harry Styles. 

No. No fucking Harry, that’s exactly what got him in this mess. Louis groans. He regrets every moment that led him to this point.

“Louis?” 

Lottie stands in front of him, arms crossed and looking older than he’s ever seen her. The angles of her face are highlighted from the light in the hall where she stands just shy of entering the mudroom, every trace of makeup wiped clean and her hair pulled back in tight braids.

“I told mum it was boy problems, got her to leave for her lunch.” 

Louis feels a bit terrible for how relieved he is to hear those words. The last thing he could handle right now is his mum. With swollen eyes Lottie looks down and plays with the cuffs of the jumper, a habit Louis knows she got from him. 

“Will you tell me what’s going on now?” 

Louis’ will dissolves, and with it himself. He slinks down to the floor in the entranceway with his legs sprawled. He’s pretty sure he’s about to lose any respect Lottie has for him, but she deserves the truth. The full of it. 

“Yeah love, c’mere.” 

He lifts his arm and she comes over to sit next to him, shuffling so their backs are against the front door as they lean into one another. His mind scours for a place to start while his hands idly brush over Lottie’s newly blond roots. His voice is thick when he finds the words. 

“We all have choices.” 

When he’s done telling Lottie everything but the super nitty details his throat is sore, both of their eyes are damp, and he’s thankful for once to have the rest of his family out of the house. This moment is between him and Charlotte. 

“I cocked up, Lottie. I can’t believe you had to see that, I can’t ever make that right.”

“This wasn’t on you.” She lifts up from where she’d settled her head in his lap to face him properly, frowning when their eyes meet. “Where do you think we’d be if you hadn’t done all that? Mum might’ve lost the house, we might have been separated. I hate how much you sacrificed, Lou, but you kept us together.” 

His feet window-wipe on the floor in front of him. Someone swept recently, they did a fast job of it and missed a line of dirt by his heels, but it’s the thought that counts. 

Louis chews his lip. Lottie’s right about the money being necessary, but there must have been a better way to earn it without the danger. If only he’d been smarter in school so he could place better jobs, if only he learned how to keep his mouth shut so he didn’t lose the jobs he’d been able to get, if only he’d somehow pinched enough together to last through the scouting process in footie. If only he’d made better choices. 

Enough about his woes. The self-pity can be tucked away in a box somewhere out of reach. 

Louis tugs on Lottie’s hand until their fingers thread together. Hers aren’t that much smaller than his anymore. 

“Were you scared today?” 

She nods with watery eyes, lips trembling. Louis remembers what it felt like when he saw his first dead body. It wasn’t so long ago now, was it? 

“Were you?” He furrows his brow so she continues, “When he shot the woman in front of you?” 

Louis squeezes her hand. 

“I was terrified.” He admits for the first time.

It’s rotten to think so, but he’s glad Lottie knows everything now. Glad not to be so alone. She must sense how he’s feeling because the next thing he knows he’s got an armful of her warmth and a faceful of his own jumper. The hug is a comfort only found in family. 

“Li- uh, Liam has terrible taste in men.” She pulls back with a waverly tug to her lips. 

A burst of blindsided laughter shoots out of Louis, “Sure as shit does.” 

Lottie's smile blooms, still solemn around the edges but bright with humour. 

“Least he’s pretty,” she shrugs. Louis rolls his eyes and Lottie nudges his arm. “Isn’t he?” she needles. 

“Guess he’s alright looking.” 

She scoffs, clearly offended by his lack of enthusiasm. Louis might have been more convinced of Zayn’s appeal if he didn’t pale in comparison to the man he worked for. If Liam’s got bad taste, then Louis’ is horrendous. 

Louis misses his shift that night. Then he calls his boss a few uncouth names while getting a talking-to over the phone. Then they tell him not to bother showing up anymore. 

He hadn’t liked being in the humid pool area for hours anyway and had a general dislike for his feet being wet his entire shift. But. It was one of the few places he could still get a job. He should have sucked it up. 

Facedown on the sofa he laments over it. For the past twenty minutes he’s mentally tried to compose an apology letter to the boss he mouthed off, but it contains too many iterations of ‘maybe if you weren’t a complete twat’ to pass as sincere. Liam knocks his feet to the floor and sits. 

Louis isn’t truly caught up on the work thing. Honestly he’s nearly forgotten about it already. Something else clouds his mind in a fog of confusion. 

Why did Harry have him followed? Why did Harry do a single thing he’d ever done? Really, when it came down to it, who even was Harry? Louis used to think he had a general idea of the man, but the longer he’s been in his life the more Louis’ realised he doesn’t have a single clue.

For every moment Louis remembers Harry being the cold criminal he’d always imagined him to be, there’s a memory of Harry curled in a chair reading a fluffy romance novel. The soft songs he hummed around the house more often than not Disney anthems. Those are the things that made Harry human.

Louis had been too caught up in his own head to notice, but now he realises there was never a benefit for Harry in making the deal he had with Louis. By doing so he gained nothing but a houseguest and the wrath of the criminal underworld. Maybe Harry wanted the excuse to take down the Jenners, but even then it’s a weak reason. If that were true, Harry could have done it without getting Louis involved. 

Had Louis been right to think the reason Harry kept him around was merely pity? Buyers remorse for the twink he’d used several years ago? Then why did Zayn insist Louis mattered so much? What had Shawn meant by ‘You’re Louis’? 

Like the first time Louis asked these questions to himself, they remain unanswered and annoyingly persistent. He’s nearly chewed his lip off overthinking them. 

A hand falls onto Louis’ ankle to hold his foot still in a quick tickle attack. Louis squawks and flails until he thinks to kick at Liam’s with his free leg. He sits up, brooding thoughts vanished by the warm light in his friend’s eye. 

“I wasn’t going to say nothing ‘cause of your latest fiesta experience, but Alesso is having a thing tomorrow.”

“A thing?” Louis deadpans.

Liam sighs like he’s been caught out. “Well, okay. Knowing him it’ll be a big thing, everyone loves Alesso, but even better yeah? You and me, free drinks and loud music?”

Liam leans his head back on the sofa and pouts a little, looking utterly dejected. 

Louis rolls his eyes at the dramatics. “Sure.” 

Honestly, Liam didn’t have to convince him. Quality lad time was exactly what he needed, and as much as playing FIFA on the sofa was awesome, so was getting smashed on someone else's dime. Maybe he’d see someone there to take his mind off of green eyes and curls. 

When the next night rolls around Louis tosses on jeans for the first time in a while, surprised they’re not as uncomfortable as he always thinks they’re going to be even if they’re miles away from the soft joggers he prefers. He wrestles into a loose white t-shirt to complete the classic look. There are bound to be at least twenty other lads wearing the exact same outfit, but unlike Lottie he’s not particularly bothered enough by fashion to care. His hair takes a bit more time convincing to style into something inoffensive. By the time he’s rinsing the product from his hands Liam’s been idling on the curb for so long he’s actually cut the engine and parked. 

Louis jumps into the passenger seat and tugs his jean jacket so it sits proper on his shoulders. Liam looks from the clock on his phone to Louis with a raised eyebrow, but he can’t talk when Louis can tell his friend spent just as long putting himself together based on how he’s tucked his black tshirt into black trousers and smells of fancy cologne. 

Louis points an accusing finger.

“I refuse to cab home so don’t bloody ditch me for a pull. Find a nice corner or the loo, but if you run off to follow a shag I will hunt you down and castrate you.”

Liam rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue which means Louis was right about Liam’s reason for dressing up. He kinda wants to ask if Liam is more likely to pull a girl or guy tonight, but he also doesn’t want to open that can of worms right before they arrive at a party. Louis also has a feeling he’ll be needing Liam to drag his sorry arse home if the night goes as planned, best to keep him in his favour. Liam rarely gets pissed, a true stickler for training even in the off season. It’s more likely he’ll down an early drink or two and be clear headed enough to get them home at the end of the night. 

With every turn Liam makes Louis’ nails sink into the threads of his jeans. His skin prickles with familiarity of the streets. He’s nearly convinced Liam’s playing some twisted joke on him until he turns left instead of right. They’re a few blocks away, but it’s damn well close enough that Louis can practically see Harry’s place from where Liam parks. 

The house they aim for is a glass box glowing in the night, walls of windows doing nothing to hide the crush of people mingling around the place. There’s no pool, but the garden is practically the size of a football pitch with elaborate landscaping and decor to make up for it.

Louis licks his lips. 

“How do you know this guy again?” 

“Friend of the teams, he’s really nice actually. Think you’d like him.” Liam says genuinely. 

He throws an arm around Louis’ shoulders as they march to the wide open front door. Liam has a habit of thinking everyone will get along with everyone else, something Louis’ always liked about him. His friend sees the best in people. Still, Louis shrugs noncommittally, not in the mood to be chatting to new faces tonight unless it’s going to get him laid. 

The thought makes a bubble of nerves fizz around his gut. He tries to push them down by telling himself he’s young and attractive and he can hook up with anonymous strangers if he wants to. If he needs a few drinks to convince himself he wants to, that’s no one's business. 

Louis wastes no time hunting down the kitchen and it’s worktop full of shining bottles. 

“Cheers to life.” Louis clicks his shot glass against Liam’s, a throwback to their wild teenage days before responsibilities and expectations loomed over them. 

“To life!” Liam repeats with a crinkly eyed grin. 

A couple more shots disappear down Louis’ throat in a similar manner before he makes them both heavy handed drinks. Liam’s been snagged by a few of his mates from the footie team and Louis tries not to be sour knowing he could have been one of them if he’d been a selfish prick. He can only stand to hang off of Liam like a side piece for so long, his stomach rolling at the familiar feeling of it. He pats his mate on the back and heads off to find some fun, intuitively moving towards the music. 

Alcohol makes the music blaring in the back garden an inoffensive baseline and he jumps into the crowd moving to the beat. Besides a handful of Liam’s teammates and a few faces he’s seen at previous parties he’s crashed as Liam’s plus one, the crowd remains generally anonymous. It’s easy to get lost in. A rush moves through him. 

It could be the music, or the alcohol, but there’s something freeing about the moment that makes him feel young and alive in that stereotypical way most advertisements try to sell you on. He tilts his head back and presses into the bodies crushed around him, reveling in the bliss of forgetting every moment that came before this and every moment that will happen after. Right now, in this second, he is just another drunk kid bouncing to the beat. 

When Louis’ feet are sore and he’s panting from exertion he scans for Liam. People’s faces are a little blurry but if he tries hard enough he can bring them into focus. From the edges of the crowd his mantra of ‘not Liam, not Liam, not Liam,’ is interrupted by a rather urgent ‘NOT LIAM?’ 

Louis’ eyes back pedal the scan in search of what threw him off. There he is. The tall kid with a trademark flush to his cheeks, chatting animatedly with wild hand gestures. His wide smile is tinder for Louis’ rage. 

Louis marches the straightest line he can manage through the gathered party goers. He yanks the kid to turn him around, jutting his jaw and squaring his shoulders in an effort to be as intimidating as he can to someone a full head taller than him. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Louis!” Shawn’s bright eyes go wide with surprise, a smile stuck on his face like they’re good friends running into each other by happy accident when it’s not even the first time he’s been sent specifically to keep an eye on Louis. “How do you know Alesso? He’s so talented, don’t ya think? Niall took me to one of his sets and we all hit it off. He’s a lot quieter than you’d assume but dude knows how to make music.” 

Louis’ not having it. There’s no way it’s coincidence. 

“Is it Niall or Harry sending you after me?”

Shawn considers him, his face changing so quickly Louis takes a step back, shocked by the wickedness in his smile.

“I’m not here to watch you, but I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was.”

Louis’ shoulders tighten. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“He’s put too much on you considering all you do is attract trouble.” Shawn takes a self-satisfied pull from the bottle loosely propped in his fingers. 

Christ, this boy obviously spends too much time with Niall if they’re gonna give him the same lecture.

“Don’t stick your nose in others' business.”

Shawn narrows his eyes at Louis. “Believe it or not, Harry’s my friend.” 

Louis scoffs. People like Harry don’t have friends. They have associates and people they pay to do their dirty work. At least, that’s what Louis wants to believe, because then he doesn’t feel too bad about hating him. Maybe it shows on his face because Shawn just shakes his head and turns away, morphing into the crowd before Louis can ask him if Harry’s ever made him cocoa. 

But the thing is, Louis was never good at doing what he was told. And how dare Shawn say Louis was the one to attract trouble when trouble had a name and a stupid flashy car. The worst part is, Louis’ drunk. He’s drunk and as he storms away from Shawn he’s fucking livid, so he does an impulsive thing. 

Or he plans on doing it. First he needs to find Liam. 

It’s too late for Liam to still be buzzed enough to dance, too early for him to be lounging with the rest of his more sober teammates, but most likely just the right time for him to be sequestered in a corner with a lucky someone. Which means it’s the absolute worst time for Louis to be tracking him down. Louis manages to barge in on several pairs of half dressed people going at it in the loos and side rooms, but not one of them has the mile high quiff of his best friend. 

He’s on his second scan of the garden when he loses patience and decides it doesn’t matter anyway, he’ll be back before Liam knows he’s been gone. Probably. He could send a text, but the problem is he doesn’t know what he would say. He barely even knows what he’s doing. 

Louis turns on his heels and ignores the patio doors leading inside, choosing to round the exterior side of the house since it’s easier than trying to navigate the crush of people. He makes it halfway around in the semi-dark before he hears fighting. Not the loud yelling and punches thrown kind of fighting. More like the fierce hissing of the enraged trying not to make a scene. 

“-told you not to get involved.” 

“Oh? And leave her in the street to get a bullet in the head?” 

“How long until she tells, Li? You really think you can keep lying to him?” 

Louis’ heart races. He keeps taking small steps until two shadows pushed against a cement wall come into view. It confirms what his ears already told him. Liam and Zayn are standing so close together Louis misses a loose step in the path and nearly eats shit right into the ground. He curses and catches himself just in time with a hand on the wall. When he looks up again the couple have jumped apart.

“You motherfucking cunt-”

Liam places himself in front of Louis before he can dodge around and get his hands on Zayn.

“Louis, c’mon mate.”

“And you!” Louis shoves Liam in the chest, “Don’t c’mon mate, me. What the fuck are you doing anywhere near him? Have you completely lost the plot?” Louis yells. 

Liam tries to say something but Louis’ too distracted by Zayn still hovering over his shoulder and stupid fucking Shawn’s voice saying he wouldn’t be surprised if Harry did still have someone on him. 

“You rat bastard, Malik. I told you to bugger off.”

“H didn’t send me.”

“Likely fucking story.” 

Zayn’s golden eyes are on fire over Liam’s shoulder. “Harry didn’t send me.” 

Louis’ face scrunches. Was he talking about Shawn? He must… but Liam’s body turns rigid against Louis’ shoving hands and Zayn keeps staring at him. Like it’s right in front of him. 

Zayn drives it home. “You should ask your sister who picked her up. Who killed the men tailing her. Who handed her off to me.” 

Louis’ body turns slack as he looks at his friend. Liam’s eyes are guilty. 

“We just want to keep you safe, Lou-”

“Don’t.” Louis backs away until Liam’s hands drop from his biceps. 

Angry tears make his face hot and he can’t look Liam in the face right now. Maybe not for a long time. 

“Don’t.” He repeats when Liam tries to move forward. 

He crosses his arms to hold himself together and side steps them both. Liam works for Harry. Has done probably since he was with Zayn, which was before Harry slept with him. Which meant Liam probably knew all about what Louis used to do. It wasn’t Zayn following him around town in baseball caps and sunnies. It was Liam, right in plain sight. 

“Lou!” Liam calls but Louis keeps his head down. 

Over his shoulder he raises his middle finger. 

Louis crams his fists into his jeans three blocks away, cursing himself for not grabbing his jacket before he left. It’s not actually cold out but it’s still not quite t-shirt weather either and the walk is taking him longer than he wanted it to. For a split second he thinks he’s lost. 

He isn’t. Louis Tomlinson does not get lost. He always knows exactly where he is, a left over habit from getting into cars with strange men. He catches the corner of a street sign and reassures himself. It only takes two more blocks that hold a single goliath property each before he’s storming up the correct drive. 

The gate is open and the door cracks before he gets to slam his fist on it, which he should have expected but still resents. Louis should be allowed to play out his rage fueled fantasies after putting in this much effort for them. Now that he’s here, standing at Harry’s doorstep with the man himself, he falters. 

Harry opens his mouth to speak and that’s all it takes to flare every ounce of anger Louis had been searching for. 

“What do you want from me?” Louis demands. 

Harry closes his mouth and closes his face off into a stoic mask. Louis growls in rage at the sight of it, feeling messy and unhinged in comparison and past giving a damn. 

“You! Everywhere I go I hear people on the street using those stupid nicknames you like or see copies of the trashy romance novels you’ve got tucked all over your house or-or Zayn. And Liam?”

Louis’ hands fly through the air in a demonstration of just how everywhere Harry’s been, and when they drop he’s panting and tired and he just- he just-

“Come here,” Harry says, the demand not lacking strength from it’s quietness. 

“I can’t… You’re everywhere.” Louis whines, his own voice lowering as the fight slowly drains from him. 

Harry leans over him and waits. Louis missed the moment he walked up the steps because suddenly they’re standing so close he can feel the heat of Harry’s body. When did they get so close? 

“Does Liam work for you?” Louis blurts, because he finally wants to know everything. Needs to know. 

“I met Liam before you. It was a coincidence you were already friends and when I discovered the connection I utilised it. I was scared-” Harry clears his throat and Louis’ eyes widen at the admission. Harry had been scared. It was a revelation and a half. “I wasn’t sure what you’d do. I couldn’t be with you with the state I was in, but I didn’t want something to happen to you in the meantime.” 

Louis digests it. The sting of betrayal remains, but there’s a warm undercurrent to it. Something in him is stupidly and selfishly glad even Harry cared and that last word. Meantime. Like there was always meant to be something to come.

“You told him to get me the job with Zayn?” 

“I did.” Harry confirms and Louis had been right, that night on the couch. Harry really was just paying him out of one risky job to another. 

And that’s just perfect. Harry cared enough to have him shadowed, by his own best friend at that, but not enough to stick around. A loose curl hangs on Harry’s forehead as he looks down and Louis might not be as angry as he is frustrated, and maybe he’s not as drunk as he thought, maybe he just wanted an excuse. Maybe he didn’t spend years looking over his shoulder in fear, maybe he was looking back with hope. 

“But you weren’t there.” Louis blinks back embarrassing tears, and Jesus, he can’t believe he’s going to fucking cry on the doorstep like this is some epic romance when it’s not. 

It’s just Louis, shivering on the doorstep of a man he should have forgotten years ago. 

He ducks his head in hopes Harry won't see the ocean in his eyes. “It’s so stupid, but you said… you said you’d be there.” 

“Betrayal left me a dangerous man when I met you.” Harry’s feet shift, he clears his throat. His voice is thick when he continues. “I had to leave. I wasn’t the person I wanted to be when I thought of you.” 

“Did you?” Louis’ voice is small, his hands flexing with the desperate wish he was wearing layers to hide in. “Think of me?” 

“Every time I wake. I can’t let you go.”

There’s a jerk of Harry’s hand at his waist. Like he wants to reach out but won’t, and Louis doesn’t get why, because a man like Harry does whatever he likes without restraint. But maybe not. Maybe Louis’ had Harry wrong this entire time. 

Harry’s not egotistical or conceited, he’s withdrawn and private. Isolated like a prince locked in a castle of his own making. The thing is, Harry’s given him an out. Has done nothing but given Louis clear scape goats since the night they met. Yet here Louis is, trying to act like his hand was forced when he’s always had choices.

Louis keeps his head low and chews his bottom lip to stifle a sigh. It shouldn’t be so reassuring, it shouldn’t make tidal waves of blood rush through his ears to know Louis wasn’t a fool for being so caught up on a single night. On a single man. 

Louis’ brow furrows when a piece of the puzzle doesn’t fit. 

“But in the hallway? You were the one who turned me down.” 

Harry’s fingertips lose their apprehension and graze Louis’ chin up with just the whisper of touch. He softly thumbs Louis’ jaw, then his pouting lip. Their eyes meet. 

“I’ve learned from my mistakes, little mouse. If you trust me to hold you again, I won't ever let go.”

Louis leans into the touch like a wild animal knowingly stepping into a hunter’s trap. His lips caress the calloused fingertip with every word. 

“My trust isn’t free,” he nips lightly at Harry’s thumb, unable to restrain himself, “but you’ve earned it.” 

Harry replaces his thumb with his lips in a claiming kiss. 

Louis doesn’t sleep with Harry that night. 

He goes home and sleeps off the emotional tornado and glares at his phone for several hours before giving in and texting his ex-best friend. Liam arrives twenty minutes later in mismatched socks and a backwards shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth and the only reason Louis doesn’t slam the door. He may have been the one to instigate this meeting, but he was still on the brink of ending it before it truly started. 

He steps out to join Liam on the step, neither of them saying anything until they’re a few houses away from the eavesdropping ears of his siblings. 

“Do you know?” Louis asks point blank, his shoulders rising the longer Liam keeps his gaze on the cracked sidewalk. He shoves his shoulder. “How Harry and I met, do you know?” 

“Yeah.” Liam nods stiffly, tight lines around his eyes as he finally looks up. “I felt horrible, Lou. Why the hell didn’t you come to me? Do you know what could have happened to you?”

Louis bristles. “I’m not some fucking idiot, I knew the risk I was taking and I was fine.” 

“Harry told me-”

Louis steps close to cut Liam off. “Fuck him, this is between you and me.” 

Liam shakes his head, steps slowed as he speaks. “I was too wrapped up in my own shit to know what was going on with you, and when I met Harry through Zayn he recognized you. He wouldn’t tell me for a long time, Lou, it wasn’t like he was running his mouth about it. I got cagey when he started asking after you so much.”

“So then what? He told you I was a rentboy and you thought that made it okay to work for him?” 

The word feels too loud in the quiet neighbourhood of trimmed hedges. Vulgar, dirty, out of place. Louis forces himself not to flinch as it comes from his lips because that’s his truth, and he’s had time to come to terms with the fact that it will always be a part of his history. That if he had the chance, he’d do it over again just the same. 

Liam doesn’t react to it, not that he would if he’s known since the start. It’s both mortifying and relieving to have it out in the open, but Louis’ tongue fills with the bitterness of not being the one to tell his own story. 

Liam turns to him, arms open like he’s begging Louis to understand. “He said you could be in danger! We hardly talk anyway, I don’t say much more than you’re still breathing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I wanted you to tell me. I… That’s your story to tell, your secret. It never felt right knowing when you didn’t tell me yourself.” And there he goes. Reading Louis like an open page novel. The part of Louis clinging to his anger loses its grip, unable to place full blame on Liam when Louis couldn’t claim candor himself. 

“All that shit with Zayn? I couldn’t explain it, I-” Liam rubs the back of his neck and struggles to keep eye contact as his voice thickens. “There was no way to tell you without-” 

Louis watches him struggle to find the right words. 

Liam deflates. “I couldn’t. That’s it, okay? I was terrified, Lou. Then this shit with Jenner started and I’ve had to...” 

Liam anxiously gestures like that explains his pained expression. 

Louis glours as he comes to a full stop. Catches sight of the bruise on Liam’s knuckles he missed before and the way his anxious hands have pushed back his hair to reveal scrape by his temple. Thinks of Liam’s name fitting awkwardly in Lottie’s mouth. 

“How many?” 

Liam turns when he realises Louis’ no longer beside him. His shoulders sag at the determined look on Louis’ face. 

“Louis-” 

“How many times.” He demands. 

Liam clenches and flexes his fist like he’s remembering the encounters. 

“Three, after the one with Lottie,” he mumbles. 

Blood rushes through Louis’ veins with the uptick of his heart and makes his head spin. Three bullets from Liam’s gun. Three people. Three different ways he could be buried underground. 

It makes Louis hollow, feeling retrospectively naive to have been walking around unaware of the strain Liam was under to make sure not a single bullet slipped in his direction. Liam’s eyes have gone dull, his body sunken into itself and reserved with his hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Death is traumatic for everybody. Louis’ heard that somewhere. 

Beneath it all Louis knows Liam’s heart shines golden. That whatever mistakes he’s made in judgement, they have nothing to do with the man he’s countlessly introduced as his brother. It’s gonna take time to fill in the gaps between them, but they’ll get there. He starts by wrapping two arms tightly around his best friend.

“No more secrets.” 

He makes Liam swear to it on the spot. 

He makes Harry swear the same the next day as they’re curled on top of the luxury duvet in the master bedroom, Harry’s face inches away across the silk pillowcase. They’ve spent the whole day talking in whispered confessions of every choice they’ve made. The selfless and selfish. The lessons they’ve learned. What they want to do better. 

There are layers to Harry, too many to peel back in a few hours in the dark, but Louis isn’t frightened by the mystery when he knows what’s important. He knows Harry is quick to be ruthless when threatened, knows just how dirty the man will get his hands to protect what is his. He also knows beneath the trust issues and the sharp bite, Harry is lonely. 

Harry learns about Louis too. 

“If you take care of everyone else,” Harry murmurs, “who takes care of you?” 

Shrugging is awkward lying on his side so Louis makes do with wiggling his shoulders and rubbing his face into the pillowcase to hide from Harry’s searching look. It’s not his mother’s fault she’s stretched too thin to be around for every mood swing Louis has. His friends have lives of their own they’re busy living, full of enough drama as it is. 

Louis mumbles through a stilted version of these thoughts as they come to him. Harry’s frown grows as he listens and jittery nerves flip flop in Louis’ stomach. He trails off with another awkward shrug. To some he’s still young, but Louis is a proper adult. He can stand on his own.

Harry props himself on an elbow and leans in close. Like a magnet reacting to it’s pair, Louis moves in sync to angle his shoulders at the same degree. He goes until he’s flat on his back, face tilted up to unhurriedly meet Harry’s in a dry brush of lips. It’s barely a kiss, better defined as a moment of silent warmth and comfort. Harry doesn’t go far when they part and he keeps his eyes gliding over every inch of Louis. There’s nowhere for Louis to go under the blatant study, but for once he doesn’t want to hide. For once he enjoys the overt feeling of being seen. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

Unlike last time he heard them, the words aren’t a demand. They’re an offer Louis has the chance to politely decline. Actions louder than words, he pushes forward to press tightly against Harry’s muscled body. 

“Please,” he manages in a short breath. 

The kiss starts so slowly Louis can feel the way the universe tilts on its axis. Louis’ vision is hazy in the dim bedroom to the point he barely notices his eyes slip closed as he sinks into the infinite expanse of sheets. A hand of Harry’s drags along Louis’ knit jumper and lands at his ribs, not heavy, just there. Moving with every shuttered little breath between their lips. 

Louis hand reaches out with too much frenzy for the moment, not pausing his frantic fumble until his fingers find bare flesh under Harry’s shirt. His palm flattens along the smooth pane of Harry’s stomach and the muscles flex in a show of control that upends Louis' mind. Harry settles fully between the bracket of Louis’ legs like no one has truly fit before, a solid weight reintroducing the concept of gravity. Louis slides his hands along the line of Harry’s waist band until they meet the smooth dip of his spine, using the hold to pull himself into Harry’s chest in an effort to squeeze every atom of their beings closer together. Their mouths are slick with each other as they find an easy rhythm of push and pull. 

The dry friction of their clothing becomes a tease while Harry slowly grinds down with all the control his muscles afford him. Louis’ breath grows heavier, having to part from Harry’s lips every few seconds with small sounds as he sucks in air, mourning every moment he's forced to choose oxygen over Harry. In a delicate tease Harry’s hand leaves his jaw and travels lower until it reaches the hem of Louis’ jumper. Louis pulls away only for a low growl to freeze him in place. 

His shock eases into something warm and squishy when he recognizes the look in Harry’s eye. Desire. Harry wants him just as badly and doesn’t want to part even for a second. The realisation makes Louis press his hips right into the man’s crotch with a smirk, earning a sharp curse word he savours while creating necessary space.

The moment Louis manages to slip off his jumper he’s forcefully flipped. The rapid rush of lust in his veins and the quick motion sends his vision spinning, and he's still catching his bearings on all fours as rough hands tug at his jeans. Together they work them off, Louis’ movements becoming as impatient as Harry’s the longer they spend not touching. Finally the clothes are tossed aside and their bodies reacquaint themselves. 

“Still so eager, aren’t you sweetheart?” Harry’s words are accompanied by his firm hands stroking over Louis’ body. They slide from his waist and over his hips to the globes of his arse, lightly squeezing the soft skin. Louis’ mouth goes dry. “Tell me.” 

“Want you,” Louis rushes out, his face blazing with how quickly he’s been reduced to a mess. Harry’s still fully clothed, Louis can feel his trousers rubbing softly against the back of his thighs, and here Louis is fully naked and sweating with a need that’s been growing for years. His arms shake as he hangs his head and rambles the truth. “Nothing as good, couldn’t get off without thinking about it, about you. Tried, thought of you while I touched myself.” 

Harry’s hands squeeze him, then linger on the sensitive jut of Louis’ hip bones before caressing the creamy curve of the back of his thighs. One hand leaves only to return in the form of a wet trail gliding from Louis’ tailbone into the crease of his arse. 

“Yeah? Worked yourself open thinking about my fingers? Fucked yourself raw and still wanted more?” 

Louis whines at the shock of crude words. At the truth of them. There have been others, a weak handful of hookup attempts Louis’ never been overly interested in thinking about. The closest Louis ever got to replicating the overwhelming sensation of his first time had more to do with an alcohol-induced blackout haze than sexual pleasure. 

“Still the perfect size, Louis. Can’t stop staring at your curves and your perfect little arse. First thing I ever saw, thought of it everyday since.” 

The sheer relief of knowing he’s been on Harry’s mind makes him weak. Louis’s arms sloppily give way and his whimpering is cut short by the silk pillow under him. Harry’s fingers glide in an unyielding trail from the top of his crack and down to glance against his balls before they’re moving up again. Over and over across his clenching rim. Louis tries to rock back every time the fingers skate over his centre, but Harry’s hand on his hip and sturdy clothed thighs against his own keep him from moving. 

Louis’ mouth opens with something close to begging on his lips, but he’s stopped before he can get a word out by the abrupt breach of a finger. It's a bliss that only grows as the silky drag of lube allows Harry to quickly work a second finger in. Louis’ mind goes blank at the stretch. His body moves with the rhythm Harry sets, building into a pleasant burn that soothes and sets on fire at the same time, until the shocking moment the fingers pull out. Like an apology the pads of them skim over his hole. 

“Harry,” Louis whines at the teasing. 

He’s sunken lower into the sheets, his knees spreading obscenely until his stomach is near flat on the mattress. Harry’s fingers languidly dip into him once, twice, slow and deep before they pull away completely. 

“Still want it, darling?” 

“Always,” Louis admits, and once it’s out he can’t hold it back. He stuffs his face into the crease of his elbow to muffle his words but they continue to spill from his lips in a litany of pleas, “Always want you, drives me fucking mad, Harry, please.” 

The sound of clothes dropping without care barely registers under Harry’s admiration. “Look at you. Falling to pieces in my hands.” 

Louis’ focus is shot, he can’t keep track of the words leaving his mouth when every nerve in his body is singing. Beneath his voice is the crinkle of a condom and agonizing anticipation builds in Louis’ gut. Harry adjusts so his chest presses into Louis’ back, his knees knocked next to Louis’ and a muscled arm propping him by Louis’ shoulder. Louis can feel Harry’s heartbeat through his skin. 

The wet press of something blunt and heavy along his rim makes tears leak from squeezed shut eyes. The head of Harry’s dick rubs over him in broad strokes, making itself known by spreading a healthy amount of lube before pressing in. 

Louis’ breath catches at the first push. It’s incomparable, the meagre attempts of every fuck he’s had between now and the first time he had Harry in him. They have absolutely nothing on the encompassing way Harry’s ring covered hands command his hips, the feel of Harry’s ragged breath on the back of his neck, how the weight of him inside Louis grows with every forceful inch. 

The pace stays slow, each thrust deep and controlled by Harry’s tense muscles. Every star in the galaxy blazes brighter than ever before until the world becomes nothing more than a scorching sky of fire. Louis would float into it if not for the solid cage of Harry’s body keeping him grounded. 

Seconds are measured in a heartbeat, a breath, a pulse. 

With every rock of their bodies Louis’ hips press down just enough for the bunched duvet to drag on the tacky head of his cock and teasingly down the shaft in a quick brush. It’s not enough to do anymore than make him frustrated. He tries to rut into it but Harry’s strong hand forces his hips to stay where they are. 

Harry’s rich voice hums in Louis’ ear, “No baby, just me. Be a good boy and come from the feel of me.”

Sheets bunch under Louis’ sweaty palms, a desperate keen in the back of his throat at the thought of it. He’s never come like that before. Knows he will because Harry told him to. 

Harry swears as Louis clenches down. He quickens the roll of his hips and the sweat slick slide of Harry’s strong body along Louis' back is a blazin weighted blanket pinning him down. His mind sinks with his body, thoughts becoming no more than waves of sensory input. Louis bites wetly at the pillow to muffle the panting whines pouring from his mouth. 

Between his thighs Louis’ dick throbs with neglect, aching at the feel of his precum slowly sliding down his balls and pooling in a dark wet spot beneath him. He braces his arms with enough force to press into Harry’s body in time with his thrusts, his mind blank with overwhelm and yet still craving more-more-more. Maybe he’s truly begging now, because the next thing he knows Harry’s growling in his ear. 

“Everything. I’ll give you everything.”

A thick hand presses against the back of Louis’ neck. It’s nowhere near enough to cut oxygen, but he chokes on the surge of euphoria it brings. With a shocked gasp he’s pushed over the edge. Come marks his belly and the sheets beneath him from his throbbing, untouched cock.

The hand leaves his neck while he gasps through it. The heat of Harry’s body against his starts to pull away and no, Louis hasn’t spent years getting off to this memory not to feel this. Clumsily he grabs backwards at Harry’s hip to keep him from pulling out, barely able to see through his wet eyelashes. 

“Inside, please, promised. You promised everything,” he frantically rambles even while Harry soothes a hand up his spine and presses solidly back into him. “Want- want you inside.” 

It’s not until Harry’s over him that he calms, soothed by the full body contact and Harry’s gentle words. He rocks just as he had in the beginning. Slow and deliberate. 

“So good for me, perfect, fucking beautiful,” Harry breathes heavily against his shoulder, his pace losing rhythm as he fucks into Louis’ pliant body.

The jerk of his cock as he comes on a deep push makes Louis’ eyes close in bliss. He savours each pulse of Harry’s cock against his oversensitive walls. Harry keeps his hands tight on Louis’ waist and rides it out with thorough rolls of his hips until his overtaxed muscles tremble. Even as soreness creeps in, Louis makes a small noise of protest when Harry pulls out. 

Time bends without reason. Louis flinches at the warm strokes of a damp flannel across his sensitive skin. He curls into the gentle hands pulling him into a tattooed chest. Idly he licks at the sweat collected in Harry’s collarbones, enjoying the way the arms wrapped around him tighten every time he leaves a little bite. 

Tender fingers comb back his sweaty fringe. Louis takes in the pleasure-heavy slant of Harry’s eyelids, the way his pupils have swallowed the colour. His look is soft, but the angle of his eyebrows relays his seriousness. 

“I meant it, little mouse,” Harry whispers, “Everything.” 

Louis runs his nose along the curve of Harry’s neck. He leaves quick kisses there while his belly is full of warmth. Most thoughts remain distant fleeting things he can’t solidify, but he knows this is what he wants. What he chose. 

He presses the words into Harry’s skin. “All I want is you.” 

Epilogue

Louis loves his mother. He also knows his mum well enough to insist she never, ever, discovers how Harry earns his money. It’s a lie he is willing to tell if it keeps everyone happy, and more importantly, alive. 

Even in the most conservative shirts Louis has ever seen him wearing, Harry cuts a sharp figure against the weathered doorstep of his childhood home. Louis bounces on the creaky step to disperse some of his jitters. 

“Remember, don’t-”

“Mention how we met.”

“And don’t-” 

“Bring up narcotics.”

“And definitely don’t-

“Discuss politics.” 

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry’s twitching lips. Ha-fucking-ha, it must be really funny to not be the one introducing your mother to the largest illegal-substance distributor in the city. Not that anyone has any proof of the fact. There’s a reason Harry’s still a free man, afterall. 

Louis’ fidgety hands raise like they want to smooth over Harry’s collar, but he knows it’s already perfectly symmetrical, just like everything else about Harry. Harry catches his hands easily and lays them flat on his broad chest. The fabric is silky smooth, matching the man’s voice. 

“Things will be okay, little mouse.” 

Louis takes a deep breath. Then another in time with Harry’s slow rising lungs beneath his hands. Okay. Yes, Harry’s right. This will be okay. 

He wrenches open the door and marches in, not knocking because that would be weird. He might not live here anymore but this will always be a place he calls home. Louis smiles at the smell in the air. Obviously, anything was an excuse to make biscuits for his mum. Louis tugs Harry’s hand to bring him to the kitchen. 

“Did you make the jammy ones?” 

“Do you have any faith in me? Of course I made the jammy ones.” 

Louis’ smile grows and he bites his lip, hovering awkwardly with a poised Harry until his mum gets a mitted grip on the baking sheet and pulls it from the oven so she can finally turn to face them. Her eyes go a little wide in surprise, maybe at the age or maybe at the face, Louis can’t be sure. Harry does have the kind of face that catches you off guard. 

Louis watches closely as his mum belatedly fumbles off the oven mitts and extends a hand. 

“Harry, I presume.” 

“Mrs. Deakin.” 

His mum’s lips thin out and she straightens to full height, like she’s been reminded that yes, she is the mum, which means she’s in charge and Harry better not forget that. Louis’ just relieved that neither of their hands go white with the force of their grips. It lasts the proper double shake and not a second longer. Solid eye contact, nice. Avoided disaster so far. 

“And what was it you did, Harry?” 

Warning bells go off in Louis’ brain. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, to pull his mum’s attention away. 

“Commercial real estate.” Harry answers smoothly without missing a beat, like an answer he’s given a thousand times. 

His mum narrows her eyes. Louis holds his breath. This moment is a never-ending purgatory. 

“So tell me, Mr. Styles,” his mum crosses her arms and oh fuck, she knows, how does she know? “Do you watch Bake Off?” 

Louis nearly passes out with relief. 

After a visit of tea, baked goods, and a surprising amount of genuine laughter, Louis and Harry stumble into the mansion pressed shoulder to shoulder. Louis barely pauses long enough to toe kick his shoes into the wall, steadily gaining marks from every time he does that, too busy focusing on his task of undressing Harry. One stubborn button at a time. 

“Went well, then?” 

Louis answers Harry with a sloppy kiss while his focus remains occupied on his fingers. Eventually they have to break off, Louis with a frustrated growl and Harry with a chuckle as he takes over working the button free. 

“It was perfect, you're perfect,” Louis insists as his hands find new homes on Harry’s pants. Now there’s a button he is more familiar with. 

They’re pressed against the entrance hallway. It’s blank, and Louis is glad of that because they definitely would have ripped a few things off of the walls with all the times they’ve been pressed against it. Clumsily they fumble their way until Harry’s patience runs out. He lifts Louis so his legs wrap around his waist and carries him straight to the bedroom.

From his place sprawled on the bed Louis spots their closet door has been left open. A sea of cotton jumpers overwhelm the hangers there, hung beside fine silk shirts. On the ground Vans in every colour are toe to toe with polished oxfords. It’s nice to have all of these things. But it’s just stuff. It has nothing on the swoop Louis feels as Harry’s hand smooths over his skin, or the feather light kisses trailing down his tummy until Harry’s mouth-

Yeah. None of it has anything on that. 

It keeps happening. The warmth he feels as they enjoy breakfast in the armchairs by the window, the crossword between them forgotten as they idly play footsie. Sometimes they talk for so long Louis’ tea goes cold before he can finish and Harry silently gets up with a fond smile to make him another. 

It happens again the afternoon Harry takes him to the shooting range so he can learn to defend himself. Louis pulls them out of there after ten minutes of watching Harry nail a full clip of bullseyes. At first Harry thinks there’s something wrong, and he’s damn right there is. The second Louis gets them into the car he grabs Harry’s hand and presses it into his crotch. He lets Harry feel just how hard he is from the sight of his thick fingers wrapped around the trigger and the stern focus in his eye. 

Then Harry moves the place setting on the dining room table. No longer is Louis sitting to the right of him, because Harry’s the one who moved. He sits across from Louis on equal standing so they can see eye to eye. The moment his arse touches the chair Louis can’t hold it back anymore. 

This swelling feeling is what he feels confident all those songs and poems are about, because he could spend an eternity trying to describe it and still fall short. 

“I love you.” 

Across the table Harry freezes, fork hovering. Slowly a smile blooms on his face, the fond one Louis only gets to see in the mornings before Harry’s aware of what he’s doing. 

“As I love you, little mouse.” 

Louis’ cutlery clatters to the table as he shoves to his feet and into Harry’s lap. 

Their dinner goes cold that night. They’re forced by hungry stomachs to make instant noodles well after two in the morning, leaning against each other with stupid grins on their faces in nothing but their pants. 

“You think a frame five metres across will be too much?” 

“S’long as it’s not a nudey. Posh art is so weird.” Lottie shakes her head in front of the blank wall above the mansion’s sofa. 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, but a chuckle still comes out of him. Harry would be just the type to put nude art along the walls and eat breakfast in front of it, unphased.

“I won’t let him.” He promises her. “What about the garden, you think it’s big enough?” Louis trails on as he wanders closer to the glass sliding doors framing the immaculate back garden Harry’s only ever used a square of to sun himself. 

Lottie joins, tilting her head. “For what?” 

“The littles to learn footie.” 

She shrugs. “Reckon we’ll take ‘em to a park like we’s done.” 

“Right,” Louis nods along, tries to be subtle as he takes a steadying breath and peers at her, “but this’d be much closer, ya know what I mean?” 

Lottie frowns, confused. 

Louis picks at his loose threads and barrels on. “‘Cause like, there’s ten bedrooms, so I know we’ll fit in the house. But I’m worried about the garden, yeah?” 

“Louis.” Lottie says his name like a warning. 

Louis smiles tightly at her, excitement making him nervous. It had been Harry’s idea, really. He hated the silence of the empty house just as much as he could tell Louis did during the first few weeks he’s been here. When Louis confessed how hard it was deciding how to split his time between staying home with Harry and visiting his family, Harry had simply stated that instead of going to his family he should bring his family to him. 

Permanently. 

Louis’ voice is still a little rough from the actions that followed. 

He clears his throat and nudges his sister playfully. “You wanna try the pool out before you gotta share?” 

Lottie’s grin is blinding. 

A week later Louis runs a hand through his fringe, damp from his post swim shower, and pads into the kitchen to a sight he will remember for the rest of time. Harry’s got a twin propped on either hip with the shortest little pig tails Louis has ever seen sticking out on top of his head. It is the most ridiculous and amazing thing Louis has ever seen. His heart swells in an all too familiar way. 

That night they suit up and drive past century old oaks. Harry still has a business to run and partnerships to keep, afterall. When they step out of the car Harry’s hand immediately finds the small of Louis’ back. Louis spent too long thinking a steadying hand meant showing weakness. Now he settles against it, calmed by Harry’s touch through a suit lined with nothing but silk. He trusts Harry to guide him, and there’s no weakness in that. 

Their shoes echo along the marble halls. In the garden simple strings fill the silence with warmth while the pool distantly shimmers, unbothered by its lack of company. Harry habitually dominates the curved sofa with both hands across the back of it. The sight of him in a strong suit makes Louis unable to resist curling into his side and nibbling on his neck while they wait for their host. 

He’s nearly in Harry’s lap by the time a strong Irish accent rings out. 

“What’s this?”

Niall rounds the fireplace to sit with Shawn in tow. Both of their shirts are wrinkled near the waistline in a tell-tale sign of hasty retucking. Every strand of Niall’s hair is impeccable, but the same can not be said of Shawn’s wild locks. Niall’s eyes land on Louis with shocking clarity.

“Louis Tomlinson, in the flesh?”

“Wherever you want me, Niall.” Louis quips back with a cheeky wink, enjoying the playful squeeze of Harry’s hand on his thigh. 

Niall throws his head back in a cackle in tune with Shawn's bright laugh, Harry fondly rolling his eyes while Louis nips his bottom lip. His stomach swoops. 

Louis loves his family, and he has a feeling it’s starting to grow.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on Non-Con:  
> The touching mentioned involves groping, kissing, and manhandling. All fully clothed.
> 
> -> For the beginning half of the fic Louis is conflicted about his attraction to Harry and repeatedly mentions being uncomfortable in his touch. This resolves itself. 
> 
> -> There is a scene where Louis is accosted by Nick Grimchaw. Some manhandling and groping, fully clothed and does not go farther than that before being interrupted. I am sure Nick is a lovely man, this is in no way a reflection of my opinion on him. 
> 
> **SPOILER**  
>  -> In the past, 27yo Harry paid 19yo Louis for intercourse and the occasion is recounted in detail. This was several years before this story takes place.
> 
> ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆
> 
> I hope the person who sent this prompt likes where I took it! Anyone else obsessed with Nialler’s pink suit? Gosh darn, what a look! Shiall is love, Shiall is life ♡
> 
> Check out my other BLFF fic [On the Edge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587638/chapters/67486540)  
> Find moodboards, playlists, and more for this fic on my tumblr [@zanniscaramouche](https://zanniscaramouche.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ✨💕 Please let me know what you thought and felt in a comment. xx 💕✨


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